Harry Riddle
by snarryvader81
Summary: What if Tom Marvolo Riddle was Harry's biological father?
1. Prologue

October 31, 1981

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light rushing towards a face framed in red hair.

There was a hiss of a breath that might've once been intended as a scream, followed by the heavy thump of a corpse hitting the wood floor. Lord Voldemort watched impassively as the life left the body of his latest victim, slowly pocketing his wand, the tip of which was still vaguely glowing green. It matched the color of her eyes, which were still exposed to him, staring up glassily as she lay boneless across the ground, an arm sprawled over her chest.

Stifling satisfied laughter, he stepped over her and stopped before the small crib she'd been protecting. In it, a young child sat, staring at the scene before him with wide eyes. Voldemort was quite sure he didn't understand what was going on, which he supposed was all the better. When he'd heard rumors--from Pettigrew, mostly--that Miss Lily Evans (or Missus Lily Potter, he did get confused at times) had given birth to a child that looked quite like him, he'd been rather . . . intrigued. After all, he'd been fairly certain he was sterile; black magic provided power but drained the body, he knew that before he even started practicing it.

But, paternity charms didn't lie, and young Harry (what a horrid name, he thought, so common and muggle) was his son.

It wasn't as though he _liked_ children, quite the opposite really, but _his_ own child would be . . . different . . . than the little brats the Death Eaters spawned, or the fools he went to school with. His child would be . . . _powerful_.

So, he'd spent the last year traipsing across England just _looking_. Even though the Fidelius Charm had no longer been an obstacle, the Potters had moved frequently and it had been hard to pin them down. But, after almost an entire year of moving from town to town, decimating populations and interrogating wizard and muggle neighbors alike, he'd finally found them.

And on Halloween, too, how nice. Someone had tried to compliment Bella on her 'costume' and had almost received a Cruciatus as a result.

Harry was still staring at him, wide green eyes possibly showing fright.

Quickly reaching over the railing of the crib and grabbing him, he held him awkwardly in his arms, both fascinated and repulsed at the same time. He'd never found babies cute, and didn't find this one any better than any of the others. Still, after all that wasted time of looking, it wasn't as though he was going to leave him behind.

With a long suffering sigh, he pulled his wand back out and shouted "_Incendio"_, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as the house caught aflame. Hurrying down the stairs and pausing briefly to smirk at James Potter's lifeless body, he fled through the front door and hustled the few Death Eaters standing outside away, very sure that some muggle was going to be calling the authorities soon.

---

Some muggle living in Godric's Hollow had called the police, and Sirius Black knew something very horrible had happened.

"I'm sure they're alright," said Remus as they rushed to get past the apparation wards at Hogwarts, but Sirius could hear the nervousness and upset in his voice. "They're alright. They've--they've got to be."

Sirius didn't try to correct him, his vocal cords seemingly frozen. He hadn't seen James in almost a year, since he and Lily and Harry had gone into hiding. Dumbledore hadn't been very clear on why Fidelius had been necessary, saying some nonsense about James being the head of a light pureblooded family and possibly being targeted--

He couldn't really remember at the moment, his thoughts too confused for him to pin any particular one down. They'd reached the boundary and he apparated, closing his eyes briefly--

--and he smelt the smoke before he opened them. His heart sank.

Remus gasped and Sirius almost did so, too. The house was burning, and apparently had been for quite some time, as almost nothing was left. Muggle firefighters had gotten there before the wizards, complete with their huge trucks and ambulances, which were parked on the street. However, a group of aurors had taken them (along with the neighbors who had come out of their homes) off to the side and were in the process of obliviating them, while other aurors were investigating the house, casting spells to put out the fire. The Dark Mark hung above the rubble, the skull and snake shining eerily against the early morning sky.

And Dumbledore was there, talking with a weeping Minerva McGonagall and idly watching the proceedings.

"Dumbledore!" shouted Sirius, making his way across the lawn. The man turned to him, his eyes unsparkling beneath the glasses.

"What happened? What the hell happened? Where--where are James and Lily? I mean---" He was babbling, but he couldn't form a coherent sentence in his state. And even though he might've been asking about them, might've been fighting the truth, deep down he already knew where James and Lily were. He'd seen similar things so many times over the course of the War, but somehow he'd never thought it would happen to his own _friends_--

Dumbledore didn't want to answer his questions, he could tell that much. But, after a pause, he did.

"James and Lily . . . are gone, Sirius. They're dead. I'm sorry."

And now he couldn't deny it to himself anymore. He could hear Remus sob in disbelief next to him, and ask another question he'd been dreading.

"But about what Harry?"

McGonagall started crying harder, and it was answer enough.

"Not him, too," choked Remus, grabbing onto Sirius's arm and holding tight.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."

After a long, numb moment, Moody wandered over, looking a grim as ever.

"You-Know-Who, all right," he said, shaking his head. "He was here personally--we've got his magical signature on the scene. Seems he's been coming out more from whatever pit he lives in. Used the Killing Curse on the two adults--couldn't find the baby's body, though, probably burnt up--"

Remus and McGonagall didn't take the last very well, and Dumbledore quickly sent Moody away to Saint Mungo's, giving him orders to relay to the coroner.

Sirius stood there holding Remus, the smell of smoke and death clinging to his clothes and hair, the sound of sobbing in the background, and wondered--

What was he going to do?

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Author's Note: Yay! I hated this chapter for quite awhile, so I rewrote it to be longer and have more explanation. I'm going to be doing the same for chapter two, as well. It still has a crappy ending, but what can I do?

Oh, and for whatever reason a year and a half ago when I started writing this I decided that I wouldn't have Sirius go to Azkaban (don't know why I decided that, truly, but whatever). So . . .yeah.

-Anna


	2. False Charm and Broken Vows

August 1, 1980

Lily Potter felt like a whore, but smiled and asked her husband to go and get her something to drink. He jumped to do it, kissing her on the cheek and leaving the room, like she'd been counting on.

For a moment after the door closed, she tried to justify what she'd done. She and James had married right out of school, when they'd been barely eighteen. It was too soon, really, they hadn't known each other well enough, but they'd been in love and hadn't cared. Those first two years, she'd tried to be a good wife, the perfect wife, taking care of the house and cooking dinner and all those other things wives did. But James hadn't taken to domestic life very well; he'd wanted to go and party with Sirius, and frequently did. And having a wife hadn't stopped him from sleeping around.

She'd been hurt the first time, when Remus had hesitantly told her, but James had promised to never do it again. He'd lied.

So, she'd adapted. Gotten used to it. Learned to ignore it.

But she'd been screaming inside.

One night a year and a half later, when he'd come in late like usual, smelling of perfume and firewhiskey, she'd finally snapped, screaming and yelling and throwing things and finally storming out, crying pathetically. She'd wandered around Diagon Alley for what felt like hours, the tears still coming--

And that had been how Mister Tom Riddle found her.

He was older than her, probably by quite a few years, but he'd been devestatingly handsome and charming, saying everything she wanted--needed--to hear and gaining her trust within an hour.

But psychopaths are always charming.

She'd known it was wrong. She was married, she'd taken vows . . . but had James ever let that stop him? Had he ever once thought of her when he was with another woman, ever thought about how she'd feel?

So, she'd pushed him out of her mind and took a plunge. And she'd loved Tom, for those few months. She really had. She thought he'd loved her, too, but then she'd learned that it had all just been work.

She was an Order member, after all. Constant vigilance, as Moody said. You never know when a a snake in lion's clothing might come along looking for inside information.

Dumbledore had been shocked that You-Know-Who had somehow known about the 'surprise' attack on his forces, and the massive loss of life the botched operation had resulted in dramatically weakened the Light.

Lily had been just as shocked, too, until she'd seen the photo. She'd been in Dumbledore's office when, surprise surprise, she'd looked off to the side and found herself staring at Tom Riddle's smirking face. He was younger than she knew him, wearing Hogwarts school robes, but it was unmistakably him. The picture hadn't been framed, just lying out on a table near a worn file dated 1943.

"Who's that?" she'd asked, her mouth working separately from her brain.

Dumbledore had glanced over and frowned deeply. "An old student of mine, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Very brilliant."

"Really," she said, licking her lips and feeling inexplicably nervous. ". . . He . . . looks familiar, somehow."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, if you've had the misfortune to catch a glimpse of Lord Voldemort, I suppose he would."

Her mouth had gone dry and her blood froze in her veins. "You . . . Know . . . Who?"

"Hmm." Dumbledore conjured letters in the air above his desk, forming the name Tom Marvolo Riddle. With an eerily practiced hand, he rearranged them so that they were a sentence: I Am Lord Voldemort.

She'd never seen Tom Riddle again after that, never gotten a chance to confront him (not that she would've, considering). She'd gone back to James, told him she'd been staying with her parents for the past month; he'd said he was sorry, that he'd never do it again, and for once, he hadn't.

Probably because she'd also told him she was pregnant.

The next nine months had been agony. James hadn't doubted it was his (what reason did he have, after all?), but she'd been unsure. No, actually, she'd been sure, but sure that it was Tom Riddle's. She'd been living on pins and needles as a result, looking over her shoulder constantly and staying up all night, only getting sleep during the bright light of day. She'd given some flimsy excuse to James (was insomnia an actual symptom during pregnancy?) but she was fairly sure he believed it. After all, she was his perfect wife, why should he doubt her?

She almost wished he did, though. She'd tell him if he asked, she was so tired of the lies. But she could never broach the subject.

But she still wasn't sure. She didn't want to confirm it, to see it spelled out right in front of her, but she had no choice.

Locking the door, she turned and aimed her wand at her sleeping son, quietly saying, "Parentis."

A gold light shot out of her wand, enveloping the infant for a brief moment before floating up and forming letters that looked something like the ones from Dumbledore's spell all those months ago.

The word "mother" formed, underneath of which was her own name, as she'd obviously been expecting. Then, ever so slowly, the word "father" was written, then underneath, the first letter "T". It was all she needed, but she watched anyway as the full name was written out, feeling sick.

There was a horrible, drawn out silence as she tried to digest the information (she'd just given birth to Voldemort's spawn, Good God, what was she going to do?!) but then there were footsteps coming down the hall and she forced herself to banish the names and unlock the door.

She'd managed to get back into bed by the time James burst in, followed by Sirius and Remus, who both immediately rushed over and started cooing childishly at the baby.

Peter Pettigrew came in last and paused at the threshhold, but she never did notice him.

_

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Author's Note: Yay again! So, the original paternity spell I used in this chapter was shamelessly ripped off from another Harry-is-Voldemort's-son story that I'd read just before I wrote this (and that inspired me to write it) and was fairly unclear, as I never explained what the hell was going on. So, hopefully this is much better.

Oh, and I made James into an even bigger asshole then he is in the books! Go me! Though, I had to give Lily some reason to cheat on him, work with me here.

-Anna


	3. The Acceptance Letter

July 31, 1991

The masked man's screams echoed off the walls of the shadowy room.

"_Crucio_," a smooth, sibilant voice hissed. The man on the floor began screaming louder, while the many occupants of the room, each dressed almost identically, shifted nervously, all praying that they would not be the next unlucky victim of their Lord's wrath. The blood curdling shrieks increased, the noise growing raw with the stress that was being placed on the man's vocal cords. He wouldn't last much longer, but the Dark Lord was angry today, and he'd been known to lose all control on occasion.

The Dark Lord himself was dressed in a needlessly heavy robe and sitting upon a large, ornate chair, which dominated the entire chamber. His hood was up, creating a shadow where his face should be and leaving only two red eyes visible. He opened his mouth again, hissing, "_Cruc--_"

He was interrupted, however, when the heavy wooden door to the room was flung open and a black haired boy entered, wildly waving a few sheets of parchment around in his hands.

The gathered Death Eaters parted and bowed their heads as the child walked past. This was their Lord's son, after all, and it wouldn't do well to be disrespectful. He could be their leader one day, for all they knew.

The boy sped down the cleared path, pausing to glance at the unlucky Death Eater lying on the ground. After a second, he nonchalantly stepped over him and stopped in front of the throne.

"Dad," the boy breathed, smiling faintly, "I just got my Hogwarts letter."

"Really?" Lord Voldemort asked, uncaringly. He twisted his wand in his hands, obviously itching to cast another round of Cruciatus.

"Yeah. And Draco owled. He said he got his, too."

Despite acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry--Voldemort's own Alma Mater--being a highly anticipated event in most British families, it all seemed to float right over the Dark Lord's head. "I'm quite busy here, boy, if you haven't noticed," he said, motioning to his prone follower. Harry pivoted around to look down at the man again.

"You're torturing poor Barty again? What'd he do this time? Or is it just for fun? You know he can't help his own incompetence, it's just--"

Voldemort glared at him, his red eyes sparking with barely restrained anger. Though Harry would never admit it, he found the snake slit pupils intimidating, so he decided to let it drop.

"Nevermind," he quickly continued. "I really don't want to know."

Voldemort gritted his teeth and motioned for his followers to leave. They obeyed quickly, filing out into the adjoining hallway. Bartemius Crouch picked himself up off the floor and limped out the door after them, residual tremors rocking through his body.

"So, Dad," Harry started again after Crouch had shut the door, "I got my Hogwarts letter." Unneeded repetition, but he was excited. His father had told him about Hogwarts, speaking of it fairly fondly, in fact, which was a rare way for the Dark Lord to talk about _anything_. So, he'd waited up all night on the eve of his eleventh birthday (just yesterday, in fact), counting down the moments until the clock struck twelve. He hadn't been disappointed, either--an owl had arrived only a fraction of a second after the grandfather clock in the foyer had begun to ding, bringing with it a heavy envelope addressed to _Mr. Harry Riddle, the Bedroom Facing the Backyard_.

It was possibly the proudest moment of his life.

"You told me," Voldemort was saying, still looking bored. The hood had been pushed back off his head sometime when Harry hadn't been looking, giving the red eyes a face. His father was a handsome man (Harry fancied they looked quite alike, in fact), but there was a type of odd gauntness to his features, like he was constantly tired. Maybe it was the effect of practicing so much Dark Magic? All the books he'd ever read on the subject of the Dark Arts had mentioned that as a side effect, but--

Silencing his racing thoughts, he asked: "Can we go to Diagon Alley anytime soon? The letter demands my reply by today, you know, but I already sent it, so don't worry. But Draco's already gotten all of his stuff. Can I get a snake? I want a snake. Or . . ." Harry smirked, "Can I take Nagini?"

"No, you may not take my familiar."

"But it'd make a statement. You know: 'I am Lord Voldemort's son.'"

Voldemort sighed, wondering if that was a good statement to make. "I'll take you shopping tomorrow, okay? Now, will you go away?"

"Thanks, Dad. Of course I will."

Harry turned on his heels and exited, and Voldemort leaned back against his throne. Harry was everything he could have hoped for in an heir, even if he did tend to be more than a little self-centered and immature. He was powerful, immensely so, and could take charge when the need arose. And, he could already cast a Cruciatus that could rival Bellatrix Lestrange's, too, though that was most likely because she had been the one to teach him and hadn't held back in the least.

All in all, Harry was a Slytherin to the core - he was cunning, manipulative, and could be rather sociopathic.

On the other hand, though, he was at times idiotically brave, especially when Draco Malfoy managed to convince him to do something stupid. Voldemort hoped fervently that was all he got from his filthy mudblood mother. It was just his luck, of course, that the one time he'd managed to reproduce had been with someone like her. The genes just weren't good.

Voldemort clicked his tongue. Only time would tell.

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Author's Note: Triple yay! I didn't drastically change this chapter, just added some stuff. And that's a positive thing, right?


	4. The Trip to Diagon Alley

August 1, 1991

"Really, can I get a snake?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes at Harry as they strolled down Diagon Alley, but he knew in the end it would be fairly useless to resist. He--no, Bella, had spoiled Harry to the extreme for the majority of his life, and now he was used to getting everything he wanted.

"Of course you can," said Bella quickly, but he cut in, glaring at her.

"No, Harry. I think a cat or an owl would be much more useful. And neither of those would get you expelled."

"You have a snake," he countered, hanging onto Bella's arm as if she was a lifeline. Voldemort wasn't sure why the woman had taken to him so strongly after he'd brought him home, so to speak, but she had, becoming the primary mother figure in his life. Of course, any mention of his real mother sparked a violent, jealous rage on her part, and made her tongue exceedingly loose, as well. It had taken a month for Harry to come around after she let slip one Halloween four years ago that "the mudblood" (the only thing she would refer to Lily Evans-Potter as) had been killed by none other than Voldemort himself. He'd spent a few hours torturing her after that, but he still didn't think she regretted it.

"I'm not in school anymore, nor am I eleven years old."

"But I _want_ one," he whined.

Voldemort gave a long suffering sigh. "We'll see. First we have to get your supplies. What's on the list?"

Harry pulled away from Bellatrix briefly to retreive the parchment out of his robes and open it up:

_

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HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

by Miranda Goshawk

_A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot

_Magical Theory _by Adalbert Waffling

_A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_

by Phyllida Spore

_Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_

by Newt Scamander

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_

by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

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"I want a broomstick."

"Quidditch is a pointless sport. You will not be taking part in it."

"Didn't you play it?"

"No."

"But he's a little prodigy at quidditch," said Bella, looking mildly outraged. She was really quite pretty, with long dark hair and dark eyes, but she was also irredeemably insane. While only teetering on the edge during the First War, the time she spent in Azkaban at the very end before being acquitted had made her completely nuts. Shame, really.

"Now," said Voldemort, "we need to get money. I don't have any on me. Come along."

"You took me shopping without bringing any money?" said Harry indignantly.

"Yes, now come on!"

Harry shook his head and found himself being pulled along after Voldemort, who was already several paces ahead of them. He and Bella caught up quickly, and for a moment the Dark Lord thought they might've looked like a normal family, two parents taking their young son to buy supplies for his first year at Hogwarts. However, despite Bella maybe fancying themselves that, once the glamours they wore faded away, all that was left underneath were two murderers and a boy with absolutely no idea as to the extent of their evilness.

"You know I hate Gringotts," said Harry, cutting into his thoughts. "I hate goblins in general."

"Just because you and the Malfoy heir got yourselves sucked into one of the vaults your first trip there doesn't mean that the goblins had anything to do with it."

"They should have warned us. We were only six."

"You were foolish. Ahh, look, we're here."

Harry glared at the scarlet and gold uniformed goblin as they walked past it and into the bank, while Bella rubbed his arm comfortingly. She hadn't been there that day, but she'd heard enough about it to feel like she had.

When the reached the antechamber leading into the lobby, Harry paused and read the engraving on the silver doors aloud:

"Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there."

Harry glanced at Voldemort. "Well, aren't they nice?"

He ignored him and entered the doors, immediately striding over to a goblin sitting behind the counter.

"Can I help you, sir?" the goblin asked, barely looking up from his work. Even if he had, he would've seen a blond haired, blue eyed man, not Lord Voldemort.

"I'd like to go down to the Riddle Vault." Voldemort handed him a small, silver key. The goblin looked it over carefully before nodding. "Everything seems to be in order. Ragnok!! Take these gentlemen and the lady down to the Riddle Vault!!"

* * *

"I do so love this part," said Bella, gripping the side of the cart and planting her booted feet firmly on the floor.

Harry cringed, now sure that she was, as he'd suspected, completely off the deep end. As his father had been so quick to point out, he'd been to Gringotts several times before, and he hated it. Not only did the goblins irk him, the cart ride down the vault made him downright nauseus.

Of course, he wasn't as bad as say, Pansy Parkinson, who'd been sick the first time she'd gone on it.

Ragnok the goblin was unneededly telling them to hold on while he prepared to start them off towards the vault. When Voldemort glared at him, he quieted and they finally set off down the twisting track. The cart actually went slowly at first, but began to pick up speed as it descended a slope, then went around a corner, and another, and another, then up, then down, then possibly around, passing vault door after vault door, dead ends, antechambers being guarded by firebreathing dragons, and the musty stone walls in between, which dripped steady with water from an unknown sorce.

The world was getting blurrier by the second, and Harry began to think that he was going to make like Pansy when the cart abruptly stopped, sending them all jolting forward. Harry almost hit his chin on the front of the cart, but Bella caught him at the last minute and helped him onto the platform by the Riddle Vault.

Harry stared at the big black door, feeling a small amount of excitement bubbling up inside him. Despite not liking Gringotts, he had to admit that there was one good thing about it:

Seeing how incredibly rich they were.

* * *

Ragnok opened the vault using a series of complicated keys, spells, and Tom Marvolo Riddle's magical signature, which was retrieved by him throwing a curse at the door. Finally, the locks were undone and the door opened to reveal a room full of sparkling gold and silver piled high to the roof.

Voldemort smiled slightly at the sight of it. He'd been destitute for the entirety of his childhood and adolescence, only gaining a bit (well, actually, rather a lot) of money after forcing his bastard muggle father to sign his estate over to him before he killed him. However, it still hadn't been enough to finance a war, so a few well carried out robberies and multiple "donations" from his Death Eaters had ensured he was now a very wealthy man. All these years later he still wasn't sure why he'd taken out the vault under the name 'Riddle', but he supposed it wasn't as though he could've used 'Voldemort'.

He watched impassively as Harry piled huge handfuls of gold into several bags Bella was obediently holding out. His son spent money like it would never run out. Again, spoiled.

Once the bags were full, Harry took one and scurried out to the cart, eager to start with the actual shopping. Bella followed him but paused next to Voldemort.

"Indulge him, milord," she said lowly, "after all, it's to be his first year and he don't want him to be outfitted like some common mudblood."

He resisted the urge to curse her and got back in the cart.

* * *

Harry shifted around in his seat impatiently, reaching out a hand to pull his sack of money closer. They had gotten their gold almost twenty minutes ago, but Voldemort had motioned for Harry to sit down on a bench in the lobby and they all had been waiting there ever since. He would've expected Bella to be impatient as well, but she seemingly wasn't, instead intently watching the various doors that led down into the depths of the bank.

"What are we waiting for?" Harry finally hissed, as quietly as he could. In addition to being nasty, goblins were also highly suspicious, and he wasn't in the mood to be escorted from the property- or arrested - by aurors.

Voldemort hadn't answered, and just continued staring at the far end of the lobby, along with Bella. Several minutes later, they both snapped to full attention when a giant of a man emerged from one of the doors into the lobby. He had a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild beard that looked as though it hadn't been washed in a long while.

"There he is, milord," said Bella excitedly, trying not to glare at the man.

"And _that_ is what we were waiting for," said Voldemort, trying to watch him but surreptitiously so.

"Who is he?" Harry whispered.

"His name is Rubeus Hagrid. He's the groundskeeper at Hogwarts."

"Drunken bum," muttered Bella. Harry was apt to believe it, as this 'Hagrid' definitely looked the part.

"And?" he prompted after some silence.

Voldemort didn't answer, he just got up and motioned for Harry and Bella to do the same. They followed the giant out of the bank and several blocks down the street. Tom suddenly turned to Harry. "Go and get your robes with Bella. I'll meet you there."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but decided it was useless. He nodded sharply and turned on his heels, letting Bella lead him off towards Madame Malkin's Robes For All Occasions.

* * *

"Hello. What's your name?"

Harry glanced over at the girl standing on the stool next to him. She was bushy haired and bucktoothed, and looked all around like a bookworm.

Bella had wandered off almost as soon as they'd come in, looking for some dark green robes to wear whenever. Despite not being the most feminine acting witch in the world, she did like clothes.

Harry, meanwhile, had been taken away to be fitted for some school robes, which was where he now found himself. Several witches flitted around both he and the girl, taking measurements, and he guessed she was going to be going to Hogwarts as well. "Harry," he said after a minute. "I'm Harry."

"Hermione Granger," she said, smiling widely. "This is my first time in Diagon Alley, you know. I was so thrilled when I got my acceptance letter, Hogwarts being such a good school and all. Is that why you're here? Were you surprised?"

"No," Harry said, his tone clipped. This 'Hermione' girl screamed muggle birth, and he just did not associate with such people.

"Really? Your parents are magical?" Now she looked postively fascinated, and he wished he'd played dumb.

"Yes." He hoped she'd go away.

She didn't.

"It must have been interesting," she said, "growing up in the Wizarding World."

"Not terribly." It was true. Being raised around it took away all the awe a muggleborn might feel.

"My parents are muggles," she said, then paused, maybe seeing something in his eyes. "I--I know that there's a bunch of prejudice against muggleborns, and I guess I can kind of see their point, you know. I, uh, wouldn't really want someone intruding on my culture, either. But, er, I still think muggleborns should have a chance. So, since I wasn't raised with it, I didn't want to be behind, so I've already memorized all my course books, and I got some simple spells to work. The Dark Arts seem terribly interesting, too--" She paused, as if realizing she had said that aloud to a perfect stranger, but continued, "I'm still nervous, though."

Harry looked at the girl closer. So, she was a muggleborn, as he'd expected, but . . . for some reason she didn't seem as horribly infuriating as most. And what ambition she must have, doing all that reading in the hopes of doing well. He quite liked ambition.

Maybe, he decided, he should try to at least be friendly in case she proved to one day be a valuable asset. Smart ones were hard to come by, after all. He plastered on a smile. "Oh, Hogwarts isn't bad. Mudb- muggleborns have been going there for years. Not one has dropped out yet."

"Really? How do you know that?"

"My father went there. He told me."

"I wish one of my parents went there. No, though. They're dentists."

"Dentists? Aren't those some kind of muggle torturers? That's what Draco told me."

"Torturers? That's not what a dentist is. They're like doctors for your teeth."

"Teeth doctors? Muggles need teeth doctors?" Harry rolled his eyes. Another example of barbarian muggle ways.

"Mentioning muggles, Harry, won't your father be upset that you're talking with . . ." Draco sneered, "a _mudblood_?"

Harry jumped in surprise and glanced down at the blond boy who had just approached. "Draco," he exclaimed, smiling. "It was either her or . . ." Harry sent a pointed glance in the direction of two vapid looking boys standing on the other side of the store. "Crabbe and Goyle. Besides, Dad isn't here. He's off doing one thing or another. And Bella's shopping. I think the question is, why are you here? I thought you'd bought everything you needed. Or are you here just to try to see if you can spend your whole 'allowance' in a day? We tried that once, you know. It didn't work."

"I'm here with my mother. I volunteered to go shopping with her to see if I could convince her to buy me a broom. Father wouldn't get me one. Did your father get you one?"

"No. He gave me the 'quidditch-is-a-pointless-sport' routine again."

"Well, when you're done talking with the . . . _mudblood_ . . . I'll be waiting." The blond Malfoy heir walked off in the direction of Crabbe and Goyle.

"Don't mind him," Harry said to Hermione. "We met when we were two and it's been this way ever since."

Hermione nodded uneasily. From her reaction, he guessed she didn't know what 'mudblood' meant, but it looked like she realized it was insulting. "W- will he be at Hogwarts?"

"Yes. His father thinks that purebloods are above muggleborns and halfbloods. My father thinks that way, too, but I really don't. I think that you should judge by the person." It was an out-and-out lie, and he had to resist the urge to grimace. The words themselves left a bad taste in his mouth.

"But, I like you. I mean, I can at least have an intelligent conversation with you." Harry nodded in the direction of Crabbe and Goyle. "I can't even talk to them without feeling like I'm speaking to a wall. They're incredibly stupid. Inbreeding, you know?" By this time, Madame Malkin said, "That's all, my dear." Harry nodded at her and stepped off the stool. "I'll see you at Hogwarts, then."

Hermione still looked nervous, and it got worse when she caught sight of Bella, who stomped over in a fury and grabbed Harry's arm.

"Harry," she half shrieked, "what are you doing talking with this--this--this--!!"

Madam Malkin and most of the people in the store were looking their way, and Harry cut in before Bella could embarrass herself by calling a little girl an insult that caused some grown women to burst into tears.

"Uh, bye bye, Hermione," he said quickly, hustling Bellatrix out of the store.

* * *

"So, how'd following the giant man go?"

"None of your business. Have you gotten everything needed for your uniform?"

"Yep. Where to next?"

"Flourish and Blotts for your course books."

For the next two and a half hours, Harry ransacked Flourish and Blotts, buying not only his course books, but a load of books on everything from the dark arts to simple hexes. He even bought one book with nothing in it at all, which left both Voldemort and Bella unamused.

Next they hit the Apothecary, where Harry bought a ton of potions ingredients. He especially liked the silver unicorn horns, even though Voldemort insisted that they weren't used in first year potions.

After that, Bella let Harry buy a pure gold cauldron, along with several cheaper ones. They also got a silver telescope and an expensive set of scales for weighing potions ingredients.

"Just your wand left."

"And my familiar," Harry reminded. "I still want a snake."

"And I still think that a cat or an owl would be much more . . . conservative."

"Dad, seriously, when have I ever been _conservative_?"

* * *

Thirty minutes later, they exited the nearest pet store with a large cage that held a midnight black cat with big blue eyes and another, smaller cage containing a silver and black snake.

"Just my wand left!"

Harry scurried in the direction of Ollivanders, the wand store. A wand was what he had really been looking forward to. He had used his father's wand several times in the past to perform a few simple spells he had read about in the Riddle Library, and he couldn't wait to have his own.

Harry entered the store followed by his father and Bella, who had been designated to carry around all the shrunken bags and the two cages, the occupants of which she looked at distastefully.

"I haven't been in here for a long time," Tom said, looking around.

"How long?" Voldemort had never told Harry his actual age, and he was always looking for clues. He'd guessed that he was a lot older than he looked, which was about thirty, but in the Wizarding World, there were a whole list of potions that could dramatically slow external aging. Of course, they couldn't slow the weakening of internal organs, so you could die at eighty still looking forty years old, if you so choosed.

"Not since I--"

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. He hadn't heard the man enter the room, and he didn't like surprises very much.

"G- good afternoon. Mister Ollivander, I presume?"

"Yes. I don't recognize you."

"Harry. Harry Riddle."

Mister Ollivander shot him a startled look. "R- Riddle?"

Harry nodded.

"A- any relation to . . . Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

Harry watched Tom, who was still safely under his glamour charm, smirk.

"Yes, actually. I'm his son."

Ollivander visibly swallowed. "W- well now, Mister Riddle, let me see." The old man pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Either. Ambidextrous."

Ollivander inhaled a sharp breath at this but said nothing other than: "Hold out your arms, then. That's it." Ollivander began to measure Harry from shoulder to finger, waist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and around his head. "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and dragon heartstrings. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just like no two phoenixes, unicorns, or dragons are the same. And, of course, you'll never get as good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry watched with disinterest as the tape measure began measuring on its own as Ollivander began flitting around the shelves, pulling down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure dropped to the ground.

"Right then, try this one, beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and--"

Harry pulled the wand out of Ollivander's hand. "Give it a wave," he finished. He flicked the wand a few times, but it did nothing. Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy."

Harry tried. And tried. And tried. And tried. He had tried so much he was about to hex Mr. Ollivander if he didn't get his wand soon.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere. It is the wand that chooses the wizard, after all. I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand and smirked. This was the one. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head and dramatically swooped it down. A stream of red, green, gold, and silver sparks shot from the end like firecrackers.

Harry could hear his father clapping in the background. Mr. Ollivander said in a raspy whisper, "Yes, yes, very good. How, how curious, how very, very curious . . ."

Mister Ollivander put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious . . . curious . . ."

"Excuse me, but what's so curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mister Riddle. I remember your father's wand. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. It had a phoenix feather at its core, as well. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather was in his wand gave just one other feather - the one that is in your wand. Curious, very curious. The wand chooses the wizard, remember. I think we must expect great things from you, Mister Riddle. After all, your father did great things - terrible, yes, but great."

* * *

The moon was high in the sky by the time Harry could finally collapse on his huge canopy bed. He glanced up at the calendar over his desk. It was August first.

Harry felt a slight shiver of anticipation run down his spine at the thought of actually going away to Hogwarts. He had never left his father's side for more than a few days. This was going to be almost nine _months_.

Harry started slightly as he felt his cat, who in a moment of uninspiration he had named Isis, curl into bed beside him.

He reached over and rubbed her head affectionately, still deep in thought. He guessed Hogwarts wouldn't be that bad - Draco and some of his other friends would be there, as would his favorite uncle, Severus Snape. He hoped he was sorted into Slytherin. He'd just die if he ended up a Gryffindor. It was his father's fault, really. If he would have gotten involved with a Slytherin instead of a Gryffindor, Harry would not be having this problem, as his mother wouldn't have been honorable.

Harry rolled over onto his back and sighed. Thirty days. Sleep was a hard time coming that night.

* * *

Author's Note: I edited in Bellatrix! Go me! I like her a lot, so I felt I should include her. And, since I have it later that Harry knows that Voldemort killed Lily, I felt an explanation was in order.

-Anna


	5. Platform Nine and Three Quarters

**September 1**

Harry had never seen so many muggles in his life, and truthfully, he was rather repulsed. They all seemed to lack grace, scurrying around like filthy little sewer rats. They dressed in the most inane, functionless garments Harry had ever seen in his life, all of which were too tight and didn't seem to fit correctly. Some of them hauled suitcases behind them, some walked in groups, some talked on clunky pieces of black and silver machinery that they held up to their ears, and others paced back on forth on the platforms waiting for trains. Some of them even shamelessly flung themselves at them asking for money for one charity organization or another. The pathetic creatures even had the audacity to stare at them. Did they look _that_ strange in robes?

His father seemed just as disgusted as he was, a permanent scowl marring his features, one even nastier-looking than usual. Harry decided that he wouldn't mind it if he snapped and started murdering them; in fact, it might prove to be entertaining.

"Where's the bloody platform?" he finally demanded. "I'm so sick of these disgusting muggles."

"Don't mind them," he said, glowering venomously a second later at a woman who thrust a collection box in his face and asked for a pound. She backed off when she caught sight of his red eyes and looked more than a little frightened even when they walked away.

"Just know that you are superior to them in every way possible," he continued with some difficulty.

"I already know that," he muttered disgustedly, only to pause and try to take a piece of hard candy out of a jar in the hands of another charity volunteer.

Tom grabbed his arm at the last minute, just as the volunteer shouted something about 'having to donate first', and led him off in the opposite direction. After a few yards, he stopped abruptly and let go, gesturing to the blank wall in front of them. "Here."

Harry followed Tom's gaze to the barrier between platforms Nine and Ten and found himself wondering for his father's sanity, which was, of course, questionable even under the best of circumstances. "There's nothing there," he said needlessly. "It's a wall."

Tom shook his head and motioned for him to watch a pack of redheads that were standing a few feet in front of them. The mother, a pudgy woman wearing cheap-looking clothes, was busily trying to line up her sons in front of the barrier. Finally, what looked like the oldest boy took off at a brisk walk towards the wall, only for a herd of muggle tourists to scuttle past, blocking him completely from view. When they had gotten out of the way, he was gone.

Harry turned his head towards his father, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Come on." Tom grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the barrier.

"Now, just run through it."

"You run through it," Harry shot back indignantly.

"I've already run through it before, during my own school days. Nothing's changed since then."

"And when was that? 1924?"

"I'm not _that_ old. Now run through the barrier."

"First time?" the mother of the redheads asked kindly, looking them up and down.

"Yes," Tom replied shortly, just barely polite.

"I'm not _running into a wall_. I'll look like an idiot."

"Just because you were sucked into that Gringott's vault doesn't mean that the same thing--"

"It has nothing to do with that!"

"Fine then. Go through the barrier."

"It helps if you close your eyes," the redheaded woman chimed in.

Harry kept hesitating.

"Harry, if you do not run through that barrier, I will push you through it, and then you _will _look like an idiot. It's like a normal entrance; it's simply charmed so that these muggles cannot see it."

"Fine," Harry snapped. He steadied himself, tightened his hold on his luggage, and closed his eyes. He began to walk, slowly at first, before breaking into a quick sprint. His muscles tensed as he sensed himself coming close to the wall but he never collided with the hard surface. Instead, he skidded to a halt on his own. He cautiously cracked open one eye. He was standing on a platform, a red steam engine before him. Witches and wizards crowded into the space, parents hugging their children and waving goodbye while animals ran around underfoot. A sign proclaiming the platform to be 'Nine and Three Quarters' hung from the ceiling.

"Told you that you wouldn't hit the wall," his father's smug voice announced from behind him.

Harry glanced up at Tom, scowling.

"Now, do you have everything? Your robes? Your books? Your potions ingredients?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm ready." He patted his pocket, where some of his more personal items were kept, then gestured down at his bags.

"And make sure to remember everything I told you. No quidditch, do not associate with Gryffindors or mudbloods, and above all, _do not--_"

"Do not trust or in any way underestimate the great and almighty Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. He's apparently a genius, a psychic, a tactician, a scholar, and everything else anyone could possibly be all rolled into one. I know."

"He's a--"

"Wolf in sheep's clothing. I know."

"As soon as he hears--"

"My name, he'll question me. I _know_. And I can see Draco getting on the train already. Can I go now, or is this little talk not over yet?"

Voldemort scrutinized his son for a few seconds before reaching down to smooth his robes and neaten his hair.

"Dad!"

"Your hair's a mess and your robes are wrinkled. You were neat when we left the manor."

"Quit!"

Tom ran his hand through his son's hair one last time before stepping back a few feet. After a moment of staring at each other awkwardly, Tom broke the silence. "Come here." Tom knelt down and pulled Harry to him in a loose hug, his hands uncomfortably settling on his back. Harry stiffened in shock, his back ramrod straight and his arms thrown out to the sides.

"Try not to get yourself killed, okay?" said Tom slowly. "Remember to be cautious and make sure to watch your back. Hogwarts isn't as friendly as everyone believes it to be. And if anything bad happens, owl me. I might send Nagini to check up on you in a few weeks. She can get past the wards."

"Dad," he began, his voice shaking only slightly, "I can take care of myself."

"Not yet. Now go and find Draco."

Tom released Harry from the hug and stood back up. After a minute, Harry grabbed his luggage and headed towards the train. "Bye," he hesitantly called out over his shoulder.

"Bye! See you over Christmas, I suppose. And I do want you home whenever you are allowed. No staying behind when everyone else is gone."

With a last look at his father, during which he was hard pressed not to role his eyes, Harry climbed onto the train.

_

_

_

Author's Note: Well, is Voldemort/Tom's fatherly semi-affection genuine? Hmm, we may never know until the end of the series.

Anna


	6. The Hogwarts Express

"So the Dark Lord actually _hugged _you," Draco said in amazement, looking almost as if his world had just been monumentally changed. Harry supposed that it _was_ very shocking (he himself was still trying to wrap his mind around it). The Dark Lord was not emotional (except when it came to anger, of course; he frequently felt that and usually inflicted pain on others because of it) and he was certainly not sentimental or affectionate. In fact, it was just absurd to even imagine it.

Harry uncomfortably leaned back against his seat and glanced out the window at the rapidly passing scenery, a blur of green trees and blue sky. "Yeah. He . . . hugged . . . me."

"Hugged you. Like . . . wrapped his arms around you?"

"Yes, Draco," he snapped, "I do believe that's the definition of the word."

"Has he ever done anything like that before?" Draco pressed, unruffled at the outburst.

"No," he said slowly. "Never."

"The Dark Lord . . . hugging someone." Draco shook his head in disbelief. "What was it like?"

Harry hesitated, only to frown when the correct word came to mind.

"Awkward."

Yes, it was amazingly . . . awkward. Harry had never truly had that much affection--Bellatrix doted on him almost manically, but she never really hugged him or kissed him, never once told him 'I love you'. His father never had either, though it wasn't as though Harry ever wanted him to say it. Draco's parents weren't overly demonstrative, either, but on occasion they did put their arms around him or otherwise expressed their affection--Harry always watched with mild interest and some embarrassment. Such warm emotions in general just seemed . . . awkward . . . to him, something that should be kept behind closed doors. It just didn't feel right to watch. Then again . . .

"But he _is_ my father. I suppose he should do things like that."

Draco shrugged, but kept shaking his head in shock. "Whatever. I just wonder if he's been Imperio'd."

The conversation fell into a strained silence for a long moment as each waited for the other to speak. But, when it became apparent neither had anything to say, their minds started to drift off in different directions.

Harry chewed his lip, his thoughts turning to the Sorting Ceremony and what a horrible disaster it could very well turn out to be. He glanced at Draco, tried to picture his reaction if the Hat decided to say 'Gryffindor' instead of 'Slytherin', and discovered that he couldn't. And even after the initial shock and horror (which would, he very well knew, inevitably be on his face) faded, when they took seats at separate tables, what would life be like? They wouldn't share a dorm, they wouldn't sit on the same side of the room in classes, their very House mates would be in constant competition . . . and then, of course, even when Draco wasn't factored in, Harry himself just hated Gryffindors. It would be like being among the enemy. No one would know who he was, who his father was, and if they even found out, they would not react with the worshipful awe that the Slytherins would. Gryffindor was the House Albus Dumbledore recruited from; Slytherin was the House Voldemort found supporters in.

And, to top it off, being sorted into Gryffindor would be . . . incredibly humiliating. The Slytherins would talk about him behind his back, mock him, he _knew_ they would.

He glanced at Draco, who was busy twiddling his thumbs and trying to look out the window. They'd been friends for almost as long as he could remember, but he'd never really broached the subject of his mother. Draco's parents had pedigrees stretching back to almost the time of Hogwarts' founding; there was not a muggle to be seen on his family tree, and all of his relatives had been Slytherin.

On the other hand, Harry was acutely aware of the fact that three of his grandparents had been muggle, and the forth almost a squib. And his lovely, mudblood of a mother . . . had been in Gryffindor.

Humiliating.

But, he supposed Draco had to hear about it sometime, at least the Gryffindor part, and maybe if he forewarned him, the shock and disgust wouldn't be as horribly bad . . .

"Draco?" he said hesitantly, forcing himself not to nervously wring his hands.

"Hmm?" The other boy turned to him questioningly, looking a bit happy to be talking again.

"If I . . . would, lets say . . ." Harry licked his bottom lip and cleared his throat, but finally forced it out: "not get sorted . . . into Slytherin, would we still be friends?"

Draco blinked, frowned, and finally narrowed his eyes at him. "Why would you not get into Slytherin? Don't tell me the Dark Lord was a Ravenclaw!"

Harry nervously cracked his knuckles, something he rarely did, and managed, "No, Father was Slytherin." After a seconds pause, he decided to just blurt it out and get it over with. "My mother was a Gryffindor."

Draco choked on his own saliva, his silvery eyes going wide. "Your _mother_ was a _Gryffindor_? _Gryffindor_? As in, stupidly brave and sickeningly chivalrous?"

"That would be it," he muttered.

"Your father, the Dark Lord, had an heir with a _Gryffindor_? Gryffindor?!"

"Gryffindor," he said slowly, "yes. As In, 'Godric'." This (over) reaction was, of course, what he had been expecting, but it didn't make it any less difficult.

"Do Gryffindors even become Death Eaters?"

"Apparently," Harry gritted out through clenched teeth. Truthfully, he was inclined to believe she _hadn't_ been a Death Eater, but that might just make things worse.

"What else was she? A mudblood?"

That caught him off guard, and he startled, his eyes widening hugely.

"Oh Merlin," Draco gasped, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. "You're kidding. A Gryffindor mudblood?"

Harry forced himself to nod.

Draco stared at him for a minute, then began to shake his head. "What was your father _thinking_?"

"Don't ask me," Harry snarled as viciously as he could. "But just know that if I get sorted into Gryffindor it's not my fault. If my father didn't have a taste for trash . . ."

"You won't," Draco cut in complacently. "You obviously didn't take after her. You're _Slytherin_."

"But we'll never know if I take after her, will we?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she _is_ dead. It's not as though I'll ever meet her."

"Why would you ever want to meet her? She was a Gryffindor mudblood!"

"I _know_. I just wonder what she was like. The closest thing I've ever had to a mother-figure is Aunt Bellatrix."

Draco snorted. "I doubt your mother would be anything like Bella. She's insane! Too much time spent in Azkaban, that one."

"She's your _real_ aunt."

Draco rolled his eyes and sneered at him. Harry sneered back, but actually felt as relieved as he could be. The Malfoys were fanatical pureblood elitists, but his little revelation hadn't seemed to have changed anything between them.

Now he just had to cross his fingers and hope for a good outcome from the Sorting Ceremony.

"Want to get some food?" Draco asked suddenly, after a moments pause. "I can hear the cart coming already."

"Sure," Harry agreed. It wasn't as if there was anything better to do but stuff their faces with candy. He'd only ever been on a train a few times previously, but it always proved to be boring.

After practically buying almost everything off the cart with their combined money, much to the annoyance of the woman pushing it, they sat in companionable silence while feasting on chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, licorice wands, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"So where's Crabbe and Goyle?" Harry asked through a grimace. He had just stumbled upon a particularly nasty earthworm flavored Bertie Bott Bean and hurried to wash it down with a Chocolate Frog. "I thought they were your lackeys."

"Who knows what they're doing? I don't think _they_ even know what they're doing half the time."

"They _are _idiots. I think Crabbe and Goyle Srs. are only a bit brighter. Why my father thinks he has any use for them is beyond me."

"You've met them?"

"Death Eater meetings."

"Oh."

"--give it back!!" a muted, very annoyed female voice shouted from somewhere in the hall outside.

Draco and Harry glanced at each other and then at the compartment door, where a muffled voice filtered through into the room. Suddenly, there was a horrible scratching at the door, accompanied by some yowling.

Harry stood up and in one swift movement slid the compartment door open, then stepped back almost immediately. A black flash zoomed into the small room, followed by a familiar, bushy haired girl. "Give me Neville's toad back, you little monster!!" she shouted wildly.

Harry's intense gaze landed on his cat, who held a squirming toad in her mouth. "Isis," Harry sighed, "Let the toad down."

The blue eyed cat reluctantly released her hold on the toad, which hopped out of the compartment quickly.

"Hermione isn't it?" asked Harry, turning the to girl. How could he ever forget his little chat with the ambitious mudblood? "Hermione Granger?"

Hermione glanced at Harry. "Oh, hello. Harry, right?"

"Yes. Harry Riddle."

"That's your cat?"

Harry strode over to Isis and picked her up. "Yep. I wasn't very sure where she was."

"Harry," Draco began, eyeing Hermione as if she were a particularly revolting insect, "Why are you talking with this _mud_--"

Harry cut him off by delivering a sharp kick to his shin. "Do be nice, Draco."

Harry turned to Hermione. "Come in. Sit down." He motioned for her to sit down across from him. She hesitantly did.

"So," Harry glued a smile onto his face, "how have you been?"

"Good," Hermione replied while nervously glancing at Draco, who had collapsed beside Harry and was still rubbing his shin. The blond pureblood glared death at her and she snapped her eyes away.

"Was that your toad?" he asked, vaguely hoping she'd say no. Toads were _so_ out of style . . .

"Oh, no," she said, managing to smile slightly. "It's some boy's named Neville. He seems to always be losing things . . ."

"My snake's around here somewhere," said Harry, wrinkling his nose in thought and glancing out the compartment door, almost as if his renegade pet would suddenly appear. It didn't.

"Snake? I thought you weren't allowed to bring pets like that. The supply list said an owl, a cat, or a toad."

"My father and I have soft spots for snakes . . . runs in the family, if you will. If you see him, though, will you tell me? He's black and silver."

"O-okay. I'm a bit afraid of snakes, though."

"He won't bite." _Unless I tell him to_, was left unsaid. The ability to talk to snakes, another of those wonderful family traits, wasn't that useful, but it did give one a nice advantage. Using snakes was a rather effective method of protection, one that dated back to Ancient Egypt. His father's snake Nagini was poisonous to the extreme, but she could also squeeze people to death if she so wanted to. It wasn't a pretty sight.

"Which house do you want to be in?" Hermione asked after a second of silence, suddenly enthusiastic. "I think Gryffindor sounds nice. I hear that Dumbledore himself was in Gryffindor. I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, either."

Harry frowned deeply at the mention of 'Gryffindor'.

"I'm going to be in Slytherin," Draco announced haughtily. "My family has been in Slytherin for generations."

"I'll probably be Slytherin, too. My father was one," Harry answered, as confidently as he could.

"Really?" said Hermione, blinking. "I heard that Slytherin turned out more dark wizards than any other house at Hogwarts. I even heard that You-Know-Who himself was sorted into Slytherin." She smiled proudly. "I read it in _Hogwarts: A History_."

Harry smirked. "Yes, yes, it was the Dark Lord's house. Not everyone who's in it is evil, though. Just . . . rather calculating and sly. Sneaky, if you will. Though, I think that you'd do better in Ravenclaw than you would in Gryffindor . . ." He said the name distastefully.

"All the Gryffindors," he continued, "are rather . . . foolish. They rush into things . . . _stupidly_. You seem to be more . . . down to earth. Responsible."

Hermione laughed, a bit nervously. "Well, I guess we really don't have any control over it, do we? It's based on personality."

Harry nodded in agreement. "So I've heard."

"How much longer until we arrive, do you think?" Draco cut in impatiently.

"It's not even dark yet. I'd say we still have a while to go." Harry glanced at Draco. "Want to find Blaise or Pansy?"

The bored bleach blond nodded vigorously. "Of course I do."

Harry stood up and motioned for Hermione to do the same thing. "Come on, Hermione. I have some people I want you to meet." Harry pulled her out the door.

"Of course he takes the mudblood with him," Draco muttered to himself, rather disgusted. "Of course."

_

_

_

Author's Note: It took me forever but it's finally posted. Please review!

EDIT: Oh, lovely. I expanded on the first part a lot. Hopefully, it made it a little better.


	7. Riddle Me This, Riddle Me That

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

Harry carefully eyed the giant - Hagrid, he recalled, the drunk - whom his father had been following in Diagon Alley. He made sure to linger in the back of the crowd so to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Draco and Hermione were on either side of him and Isis shuffled around his legs, meowing loudly.

There was nothing seemingly important about the giant of a man, or special, if looking like an unkempt vagabond didn't count. His speech gave away the fact that he was very uneducated, if not just dumb. Even so, he appeared to be friendly, smiling kindly down at the children, all of whom seemed intimidated by him.

Harry mentally shrugged. His father hadn't actually told him to spy (he had Severus Snape for that), but he might keep an eye out for anything unusual. Voldemort himself hadn't set foot on Hogwarts' grounds since the seventies, or so Harry had heard. Dumbledore had apparently warded specifically against his magical signature, making the place a stronghold for the 'Light'.

"Harry?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder in Pansy Parkinson's direction. She was gingerly holding a black and silver snake an arm's length away from her body, looking at it as if she firmly believed it would kill her at any moment.

"Is this yours?" she asked nervously. "Blaise found it in our compartment a bit after you left and we thought that since you can talk to them that it probably--"

"He's mine," Harry interrupted impatiently, glancing over at Hermione. Thankfully, she seemed to be busy cooing at the cat and not paying attention. Broadcasting the fact one was a Parseltongue was never a good idea, especially to someone who'd probably only ever read about Dark Wizards having the ability. It would inevitably lead to instant stereotyping. Accurate stereotyping, actually, but she didn't need to know that yet.

He held out his arm and the snake quickly coiled loosely around it, leaving Pansy looking relieved.

"C'mon, follow me - any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years, follow me!" Hagrid motioned them all to follow him and began walking up a hill.

Harry scowled as he slipped and stumbled up the steep, narrow path. It was very undignified and it was so dark he couldn't see two feet in front of him. His father hadn't warned him about this, or else he might have worn boots that were appropriate for hiking. The expensive pair that were currently on his feet weren't designed for any type of outdoor activity, and he knew they'd be ruined by the time they arrived at the school. That was six hundred galleons and a good first impression down the drain.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," the giant called over his shoulder. "It's amazing when yeh see it."

As predicted, a few seconds later a sudden chorus of 'Oooohs' twittered throughout the crowd. Even Harry couldn't keep himself from making an awed exclamation. The castle before them, with its windows sparkling in the sky and many turrets and towers, was a magnificent sight to behold.

After a minute, Hagrid decided it was time for them to move on and led them down to the bank of a wide lake, which looked inky black and utterly endless in the darkness.

Harry almost shivered.

"No more'n four to a boat!" the giant called, gesturing to a line of rowboats near the shore.

Harry, Draco, Hermione, and Blaise Zabini crowded into one of the small boats. Isis made herself comfortable on Harry's lap, hissing when Blaise tried to pet her.

"Everyone in? Right then - FORWARD!!"

Harry nervously tried not to move at all so as not to shake the boat and gritted his teeth anytime it jostled on its own - he had never learned how to swim and was praying to every deity he knew that the boat would not topple over and drown him.

Instead of dwelling on the lake surrounding him (which had to be very deep, he knew, possibly complete with monsters), he tried to focus on the castle looming in the distance, wondering how the wards could be so strong that his father couldn't get in. It didn't seem all _that_ safe, and he couldn't actually feel the prickling sensation that usually came when crossing the border of strong magical protection.

Harry was jolted out of his reverie by the giant's shout of "Heads down!"

Harry quickly bowed his head so that he wouldn't be decapitated by the cliff where the castle sat, but began to calm slightly when he realized that the little boat adventure that he was _enjoying_ so much was almost over - they were now sailing down a dark tunnel towards a type of harbor.

Harry breathed a hushed sigh of relief when he was back on the rocky ground. He absentmindedly noticed a rather pudgy boy with dark hair fussing over that toad that Isis had caught on the train, moaning something about 'teeth marks'.

Harry, still standing in between Draco, who was now holding Isis, and Hermione, followed the rest of the first years through a passageway and up a flight of damp stone steps.

They finally crowded around the huge oak door, which he assumed to be the castle's main entrance. By this time, he was more than ready to just get on with the Sorting Ceremony, whatever disaster it might turn out to be.

"Everyone here?" asked Hagrid. "You there, still got yer toad?"

The pudgy boy nodded and clutched his toad to his chest, while everyone else nodded to confirm that they were, in fact, there.

Apparently satisfied, the giant raised a huge fist and knocked three times on the door, which opened at once to reveal a tall, stern looking witch with black hair. Harry had a feeling that she was Minerva McGonagall. His had told him about her, mainly to warn him about her cat animagus and that she was very, very strict.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall."

"Thank you, Hagrid," she said dismissively. "I will take them from here."

Hagrid moved off to the side and she pulled the door open wide, letting the children pour in. Harry and his friends were still hanging around in the very back of the crowd and Draco still had Isis clasped in a death hold in his arms. Harry didn't notice, as he was relatively surprised by the size of the entrance hall - you could have fit several rooms of Riddle Manor into it, perhaps over half of the first floor.

McGonagall led the first years past what Harry assumed to be the entrance to the Great Hall and into a small, empty chamber. Harry and his companions still stuck close to the back, near the exit. Though, as much as a part of him wanted to, he knew he wasn't going to be bolting anytime soon.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall began. Harry wanted to tune her out, as he already knew a bit about the House points and dormitories, but decided it was worth listening to.

"The Start of Term Banquet will begin shortly," she continued, "but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses."

He glanced over at Draco, who was, by now, gripping Isis so tightly that the poor cat seemed to be suffocating.

"Draco," Harry hissed, "Put the cat down before you kill it!"

Draco jumped violently (in turn startling some of those around them) and dropped Isis, who managed to land gracefully on the floor and hiss at him before running off.

"Sorry," Draco whispered back, almost sheepishly. "Nerves."

"The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts."

Harry once again decided that, considering he was actually a blood descendant of Salazar Slytherin, it would be entirely unacceptable to be sorted anywhere else, but before he could ponder it any further he had the unpleasant experience of his snake slithering its way down his body and out his pants leg. He held his breath and waited for someone to scream, but apparently everyone was too busy listening to McGonagall to notice the reptile gliding along the floor by their feet.

"You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House Common Room."

He vaguely wondered if students from other Houses were allowed in different Common Rooms, because if he _did,_ by some horrific, entirely tragic catastrophe, get sorted into Gryffindor, he decided that he would invite every single Slytherin into the Gryffindor Common Room just to make his lovely House Mates angry. Of course, that was if the Slytherins decided he was still worthy of being spoken to . . .

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

_Said in descending order from most favorite to least?_ he wondered.

"Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards."

"Except Hufflepuff," whispered Draco, and Harry was hard pressed to keep from laughing.

"While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you House points while any rule breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will become a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

If he was sorted into Gryffindor, he decided, he would endeavor to ruin the House's reputation as much as he possibly could.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." After pausing to glance pointedly at a few of the students who were rather disheveled looking, such as the pudgy boy with the toad and another boy with almost painfully red hair, the tall witch took her leave, saying she would return when everything was ready for them.

As soon as she was out of sight everyone immediately began whispering among themselves.

"How exactly do they sort us into Houses?" Hermione asked, obviously nervous but trying her best to hide it. "I know it's based on personality, but--"

"You put on a Hat," Harry replied calmly, even though inside he wasn't fairing any better than she was. "It looks into your head to determine your personality and then you go to whatever House suits you best." He didn't mention that he thought letting something poke around in your head like that was a terrible invasion of privacy, even if it was a sentient hat.

Hermione looked relieved. "Thank God. I thought it would be some kind of test. Not that I don't know any spells, I mean I read all my course books twice and after I got my wand I went out in the backyard--we've got a privacy fence, you know--and I started practicing some defense spells and--"

Harry had actually done the exact same thing after he had gotten his wand, though instead of a privacy fence the backyard simply had very strong notice-me-not charms around it. In fact, the entire property had a series of dark magic wards in place that did rather gruesome things to trespassers.

"--and I'm very sure that I know History of Magic well enough to get an A--I mean, an 'O'--on at least a multiple choice test--"

Gasps suddenly echoed from the crowd, drawing Harry's attention away from Hermione and her ramblings.

Two ghosts had drifted through the wall into the room. Harry wasn't very shocked - there were plenty of ghosts at Riddle Manor, and every single one of them was a lot scarier than these.

The two ghosts seemed to be arguing about something until one of them noticed the first years.

"I say, what are you doing here?"

Nobody answered until Harry spoke up, not quite seeing why everyone else was so frightened: "We're the first years waiting to be sorted."

"Oh! Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" one of the ghosts, who looked rather like a Friar, replied. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," a sharp voice commanded. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start." Professor McGonagall had returned. The ghosts floated off through the walls.

"Now, form a single file line and follow me."

Any bravado Harry might've had began to quickly disappear, and a slightly sick, nervous feeling took up home in his stomach. He was almost upon the moment of truth, literally minutes away. Would he be a Slytherin, like his father, or a Gryffindor, like his mudblood mother? Would just having a parent in Gryffindor be enough to negate being a blood relative of one of the actual Founders himself?

Or what if, by some sadistic twist of fate, he ended up in Ravenclaw or, even worse, _Hufflepuff_? If he wasn't a Slytherin, would his father disown him? Throw him onto the street? Kill him? Would Pansy and Blaise and everyone else he already knew not want to be his friend anymore? Would Draco even stop talking to him, forget almost ten years of friendship because of House rivalry? Would his Aunt Bellatrix refuse to speak to him, call him a mudblood or blood traitor? Would Severus treat him horribly in class, bully him like he did all the other Gryffindors?

Suddenly, Severus's cruelty towards his students didn't seem all that funny anymore.

They had reached the Great Hall, and his racing, upsetting thoughts were broken by Hermione's whisper of, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_." Harry glanced up at the charmed ceiling. He had to admit that it was impressive. It was, in fact, so realistic that Harry had a hard time imagining that the Great Hall didn't just open up into the heavens.

Looking around, he saw four tables lined up facing another long table at the front of the hall, where all the professors sat. Headmaster Dumbledore was situated in the middle, just oozing kindly-old-grandfather-ness. All the students (and there were _quite _a lot of them) sat at the table decorated with their respective House colors. All the Slytherins looked vaguely sinister, the Hufflepuffs vaguely empty headed, the Ravenclaws vaguely snooty, and the Gryffindors as completely insufferable as ever.

Harry focused his attention back on Professor McGonagall as she silently placed a wooden, four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she placed a ragged wizards' hat.

Harry had imagined the fabled Sorting Hat to be a bit grander than that, at least in better condition. It was so dirty he guessed that his father wouldn't have let it in the manor.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence, then a rip near the brim opened like a mouth and the Hat began to sing:

"_Riddle me this, riddle me that,_

_For I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat._

_I am about to have a ball,_

_Sorting the most cryptic Riddle of all._

_Where shall this enigma go?_

_Shall I shout out Gryffindor,_

_Whose audacious honor makes them subject of lore?_

_Their daring, nerve, and bravery set Gryffindors apart._

_Shall I shout out Ravenclaw,_

_Where lie those whose intellect has no flaw?_

_Their studious ways make them the most knowledgeable of all._

_Shall I shout out Hufflepuff,_

_Where their loyalty and fairness,_

_Prove to be ageless?_

_A Hufflepuff will never be afraid of toil._

_Shall I shout out Slytherin,_

_Where dwell the sly and cunning?_

_Those who belong to this house will do anything,_

_To achieve their ends._

_So where shall I sort this conundrum, _

_This puzzle, _

_This most mysterious Riddle?_

_I'm not yet sure of that,_

_So, come try me on,_

_Don't be afraid,_

_For I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat!"_

The whole hall burst into applause when the Hat finished its song, and not one person looked shocked, as if a bit of cloth that could sing was an everyday sight. Harry himself had previously thought that when inanimate objects suddenly became sentient it meant that they were enchanted with dark magic and therefore dangerous, but he supposed that if the Hat was an actual dark artifact someone would've complained to the Board of Governors a long time ago.

The Hat bowed to each of the four tables and then became still. Harry glared at it suspiciously for a while before tearing his eyes away to survey the Great Hall again. He overheard a redheaded boy (probably a Weasley, he decided) whisper about how his brother had been going on about having to wrestle a troll. Harry had to roll his eyes at that. Did they really think the school was out to kill them? The population was struggling as it was.

"When I call your name," Professor McGonagall began, "you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!"

A girl with pig tails rushed up to the stool and put the hat on. After a moment's pause, the hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!!!"

The table on the right, decorated with yellow and black, cheered as Hannah took the Hat off and ran to take a seat. Harry saw the Friar's ghost waving happily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!!!"

The girl scampered off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!!!"

The table second from the left, done up in bronze and blue, clapped this time.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

"RAVENCLAW!!!"

"Brown, Lavender!"

"GRYFFINDOR!!!"

The red and gold table on the far left exploded with cheers. Harry could see two redheaded twins (also probably Weasleys, he decided) who had been at King's Cross Station cat-calling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent!"

"SLYTHERIN!!!"

Harry and Draco both clapped along with the Slytherin Table.

"Corner, Michael!"

"RAVENCLAW!!!"

"Crabbe, Vincent!"

"SLYTHERIN!!"

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!!!"

Just as his father had once told him, it took a different amount of time for each person to be sorted. For some, the Hat barely touched their head before it called out their House; for others, the Hat had to sit there for almost a minute.

"Finnigan, Seamus!"

"GRYFFINDOR!!!"

"Goldstein, Anthony!"

"RAVENCLAW!!!"

"Goyle, Gregory!"

"SLYTHERIN!!!"

"Granger, Hermione!"

Harry watched coldly as Hermione scurried towards the stool. This would determine whether or not she would be worth anything to him in the future. He would _not _associate with a Gryffindor, but if she was a Ravenclaw, that would be a very different story. It was a rather neutral House, as was Hufflepuff, but while the latter leaned towards the Dumbledore side of things, the former tended to go over to Voldemort.

The Hat sat on her head for almost a minute before declaring her to be a "RAVENCLAW!!!"

Harry waved at her once she got seated.

"Greengrass, Daphne!"

"SLYTHERIN!!!"

"Longbottom, Neville!"

The boy who kept losing his toad stumbled his way up to the stool. The Hat sat on his head for almost two minutes before shouting out "HUFFLEPUFF!!!" Neville ran off still wearing the Hat and had to come all the way back to give it to Professor McGonagall, who looked irritated.

"MacDougal, Morag!"

"RAVENCLAW!!!"

"Macmillan, Ernie!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!!!"

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Harry smirked. This wouldn't take long.

Draco swaggered forward and put the Hat on his head. After less than a second, it decided he was very much fit to be a "SLYTHERIN!!!"

"Moon, Marissa!"

"RAVENCLAW!!!"

"Nott, Theodore!"

"SLYTHERIN!!!"

"Parkinson, Pansy!"

"SLYTHERIN!!!"

"Patil, Padma!"

"RAVENCLAW!!!"

"Patil, Parvati!!"

"GRYFFINDOR!!!"

"Perks, Sally-Anne!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!!!"

After the Hufflepuff table had settled down, Professor McGonagall looked down to announce the next student's name, but the words died on her lips. Her already pale face went as white as a sheet and her eyes moved back and forth over the same line several times. Finally, she stuttered out, "R- R- Riddle, Harry!"

Harry smirked. She seemed to have recognized his last name already. His father had mentioned something about them attending Hogwarts at the same time, though he could truthfully say that his father looked very much younger than her. He strutted up to the stool and sat down, forcing himself to look as confident as he possibly could.

Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head with trembling hands. It slid down over his eyes, blocking out his view of the Great Hall.

_Hello,_ a little voice whispered in his head._ Why, if it isn't Harry Morfin Riddle. It has been a long, long time since I've sorted a Riddle. Did you like my song?_

_Let me guess. I'm the 'most cryptic riddle of all'? You could have been a bit more subtle about it. And it didn't really make sense, either._

_My, my, my. You are like your father. Intelligent, immensely so. You have a thirst to prove yourself, yet you don't care what people think of you. There's talent, oh yes, there's so much talent. Hmm. You have a sense of justice, however odd, but I doubt you would do any good in Hufflepuff. To irascible. _

_Thank Merlin._

_And while you are undeniably smart, you dislike studying, don't you? You prefer spending your time doing other things. You could get by in Ravenclaw, but it isn't the house for you._

_That's fine by me._

_Now here is the real challenge. You're brave, fairly honorable, in a bit of a strange way, daring, passionate, bold, and adventurous. You'd do Godric Gryffindor himself proud if it weren't for the darker facets of your personality._

_What? NO!_

_On the other hand, you're cunning, manipulative, sly, a bit cautious, and a Parseltongue. Your father was a Slytherin, and sons usually follow in their father's footsteps._

_As you said, I'm a lot like my father._

_But your mother was a Gryffindor. You are a lot like her, as well._

_I highly doubt that._

_You do, do you? Hmm, you must remember I Sorted her, too. You'd fit in well with the Gryffindors, if you could get past your dislike of them. Getting sorted into that House may expand your horizons a bit._

_All my friends are in Slytherin! My family is Slytherin. I'm the heir of Slytherin!_

_This is not based on friends or even family, dear Harry. It's personality. An heir of Slytherin could be a Gryffindor, just like an heir of Gryffindor could be a Slytherin. It's the individual, not the blood._

_My personality is of a Slytherin._

_Yes, but it's also like a Gryffindor._

_I'm more Slytherin than Gryffindor. _

The Hat was silent for a minute. _You will be very important in the coming years, young Harry. Very, very important. I think, while you'd do well in both of the aforementioned houses, you would, in the end, fit in the best in _SLYTHERIN!!!

Harry heard the Hat shout the last out to the rest of the hall. Relief like he had never felt before flooded through his body, making him weak in the knees, but he managed to smile widely and hand the ancient thing back to McGonagall, who was still pale.

Stepping down from the stool, he glanced over his shoulder at the head table. Most of the teachers (Severus included, but Harry knew it was just acting so as to stay on Dumbledore's good side) wore the same look of shock, concern, and, most of all, fear.

How he loved to inspire fear. Another family trait.

Harry's green eyes met the Headmaster's blue ones. The eleven year old smirked maliciously.

Head held high, Harry strode over to the cheering Slytherin Table and sat down beside Draco.

"Told you you'd be Slytherin," Draco said haughtily.

Harry scowled at his arrogant tone. "At least I have some semblance of a complex personality," he snapped back. "The Hat actually had to debate a bit."

"Hey, I have a--!"

Harry cut him off with loud clapping. Blaise had gotten sorted into Slytherin.

Dumbledore rose to his feet. He wore a disarming, dotty smile, but he seemed to be keeping one eye on the Slytherin Table. On one particular _person_ at the Slytherin Table.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Harry remained staring at the spot he had been occupying for a few seconds before turning to Draco.

"_That_ is the only wizard my father ever feared? Does my father have some sort of problem with the part of his brain that controls that particular emotion?"

Draco shrugged. "He's powerful. I mean, he defeated Grindelwald. And who knows? Maybe he's not as insane as he'd like us to believe. Potatoes?"

Harry glanced down. The food had appeared already. He piled a bit of everything onto his plate and began to eat, taking small bites. Harry had always been rather short and small boned (another thing he got from that mudblood mother of his, as his father was very tall), and he had never liked eating very much.

"That does look appetizing, " a hollow voice groaned. Harry slowly stilled, his fork halfway to his mouth, and cautiously glanced over his shoulder. He almost cringed.

A ghost, covered in silver blood and looking like something out of a nightmare, was staring directly back at him.

"Hello . . ." Harry said hesitantly. He tilted his head slightly. His father _had_ told him about the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin House ghost, but the spirit was a bit more . . . off-putting than he'd made it sound.

The ghost looked Harry up and down. "You look familiar. What is your name?"

"Harry Riddle," he answered slowly.

"Riddle? I believe recognize the name . . ."

"Well . . . my father was a Slytherin. Tom Riddle."

"Oh, yes, Tom Riddle. I remember him. Talented, if I recall correctly. It was many years ago."

Harry smirked quickly, suddenly happy the ghost had approached him. This was the best chance he was ever going to get to find out just how many years his father had taken away from his appearance with whatever youth potions he took. "When did he attend Hogwarts, exactly?"

The Baron paused for a moment. ". . . 1938 . . . to 1945, if I recall correctly. Yes, it was during the War with Grindelwald, yes, I'm sure of that . . ."

Harry raised an eyebrow. His father was quite a bit older than he had originally thought.

"You seem to be a good asset to Slytherin," continued the Baron. "We have won the House Cup six years in a row now- I don't intend for our victorious streak to end. Especially to those dreadful Gryffindors." He glared over at the Gryffindor table, where another ghost was hovering, this one with his head hanging limply by a strip of transparent flesh to his stump of a neck.

Somehow, Harry found him less intimidating than the Baron.

"Yes," Harry forced out, "it would be shameful for the Gryffindors to win."

Seemingly pleased with his response, the Baron floated off towards the older Slytherins.

"You found out how old your father is?" Draco asked in between shoveling bites of food into his mouth. Harry quickly calculated the date and answered, "Sixty-four or sixty-five."

Draco made a face. "He looks thirty, doesn't he?"

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded away, leaving the plates sparkling clean. Seconds later, the desserts appeared.

Harry sighed - he was rather full - but for the spirit of things he dug in anyway.

"Who's that?" Draco asked, pointedly looking towards the front of the Great Hall. Harry followed the direction of Draco's gaze up to the Head Table, where it landed on a man in a turban.

"He's Professor Quirrell. Dad told me a bit about him. He'll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts and he's new this year. I hear that he's rather pathetic, though. Scared of the students, scared of his shadow, of his own subject . . ." Harry trailed off.

"He looks like an idiot," Draco muttered under his breath. "Why do they always hire incompetents for the Defense position?"

Several minutes later, the desserts, like the main meal, disappeared. Dumbledore rose to his feet again and the entire Hall fell silent.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils, thus the name Forbidden Forest. A few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Harry saw Dumbledore glance pointedly at the redheaded twins, who tried, in turn, to look innocent and failed horribly.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

Harry scowled at the mention of Filch. His father had warned him about the man and his menace of a cat, Mrs. Norris. He was already plotting ways that the cat could meet her untimely end all the while looking like an accident. He had a few good ideas, most involving binding spells and candles.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"He can't be serious," Draco muttered.

"I think he is," Harry replied.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"

Harry grimaced, along with the rest of Slytherin table and most of the students in the Great Hall. His father had _especially_ warned him about this . . .

"Everyone pick your favorite tune and off we go!"

The school bellowed:

_"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot."_

Harry shuddered. They all sounded horrible and finished at different times as well. He was all for school spirit, but the least they could do was get a better song!

"Ah, music," Dumbledore said while wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Before Harry could get up, Severus seemed to share a type of wordless communication with the Headmaster. He stood up, strode to the Slytherin table, and swooped down on him. "Mr. Riddle, the Headmaster would like to have a word with you in his office."

Harry nodded, resigned to his fate and not at all surprised. He knew Dumbledore would want to speak to him sooner or later, as his father had said. He just hoped that the barmy old man wouldn't do something such as expel him, especially since the Sorting went so well.

Harry motioned to Draco to go back to the dorm and stood up. He glared in the direction of Dumbledore, whose eyes just twinkled back.

_

_

_

The computer was acting weird for a long time and wouldn't let me update, but I finally got it working today. I tried to make it longer. The next chapter should be up soon! Thanks to everyone who reviewed!


	8. Headmaster Dumbledore

"Mister Riddle," Dumbledore began in a slightly flustered tone. He fumbled to pick up a lemon drop and offered one to Harry after he had. The boy declined.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry replied calmly, a bit happy to be the cause of such upset. He folded his hands in his lap and plastered a halfway-pleasant expression on his face. He wasn't sure why he should really be polite, but decided it would be more appropriate than rudeness. "It's an . . . honor . . . to finally meet you having heard . . . so much." He smiled, showing teeth.

Harry was currently sitting in front of the Headmaster's desk in a large comfy chair. Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick were crammed into the office as well, standing side by side around stacks of books, papers, and mechanisms he couldn't even begin to name.

McGonagall by far seemed the most hostile. She was staring at Harry as if he was some sort of wild animal that could viciously attack at any given moment. He noticed that her hand was poised to grab her wand quickly if the need arose. Her eyes glinted with some unidentifiable emotion - hate, maybe? Dread? Fear? Had his father done something dreadfully horrible to her at some point?

Probably. His father had apparently done something dreadfully horrible to almost everyone in the Wizarding World at some point in his life.

Meanwhile, Professor Filius Flitwick's small body was trembling uncontrollably. To get to be almost the same height as Snape and McGonagall, he'd had to stand on a wooden chair, but he had fallen out of it twice already, landing on the floor with painful sounding thumps both times. Unlike McGonagall, he tried to avoid eye contact with Harry at all cost, opting instead to rotate between staring at the floor and Dumbledore.

Severus was the only person in the room who really seemed to have no feeling one way or another towards him. Harry wasn't sure what he had or hadn't told Dumbledore over the years, but apparently he'd never mentioned Harry's existence. He fleetingly wondered how he was going to explain that and keep Dumbledore's trust . . . but the man couldn't have been a spy for twenty some odd years if he wasn't talented. He obviously had something in mind.

Albus Dumbledore himself, Light Wizard Extraordinaire, was a bit disorganized and flustered, but other than that, he was unreadable, no clear emotion on his face other than some shock.

To Harry, he looked rather like a harmless geriatric. His skin was wrinkled, his hair silver, and if his robes were any indication, he was a bit senile as well. Harry was no fashion expert, nor was he the most creative person, but even he knew that not a single of those seven colors went with any of the others, and the animated pattern just made the whole outfit impossible to look at without inducing a severe case of vertigo.

He was really at a loss to explain how his father ever could have actually _feared_ him. Had he been more intimidating in the forties?

"You've caused quite a . . . shock to us, Mr. Riddle," said Dumbledore, scrutinizing him over half moon glasses. Harry had to admit that his gaze was rather piercing, uncomfortably so. Perhaps Draco had been right when he said Dumbledore was just wearing a mask? It would be terribly clever, wouldn't it, to make it so that everyone around you let their guard down, only for the kindly, senile exterior to just be a facade . . .

Underestimation was possibly the best weapon one could have, wasn't it?

"I, for one, didn't know that Lord Voldemort had a son. I find myself thinking that perhaps I should've looked more closely at the book that holds the names of our future students, but we did just this year make it so that the letters were written and addressed automatically and I believed I had no reason." He chuckled.

Harry pursed his lips, and for a moment wondered if he could play dumb. 'Riddle' wasn't exactly a common last name, but it wasn't entirely unheard of and it was, most definitely, muggle. He could claim to be muggleborn and that he had no idea who this 'Voldemort' person was or what they were talking about, and that he was very afraid and intimidated and just wanted to get to his common room . . .

But, they would probably see through it.

"Didn't you, now?" he asked, lacing his fingers. "Well, I assume he had his reasons for keeping my existence a secret." _Probably worried you and your bloody holier-than-thou 'Order' would try to do something to me_, he added silently. Truth be told, he wasn't very familiar with the Order of the Phoenix, but he'd heard it mentioned more than a few times. Dumbledore apparently headed it, Severus had somehow managed to get a membership in it (thus making him the Most Important and Valued Spy in Voldemort's ranks), and everything was very hush-hush. But, the organization's sole purpose was crystal clear: the defeat of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

Dumbledore was still looking at him with those sharp eyes. "You do . . . favor him, don't you?"

"So I've been told."

"You would've been born in . . . 1980? 1979?"

"July, 1980."

"During the thick of the War."

"I wouldn't know," he said shortly. In fact, he did know. 1980 had been the year when the Ministry of Magic had declared it legal for Aurors to use torture during Death Eater interrogations, as well as Unforgivables in general, which was just one of many various escalations made by the two sides as things grew worse. Possibly in retaliation, Death Eaters had killed the Minister of Magic's entire family and he'd resigned, leaving the Ministry in a state of upheaval as politicians fought over power.

And that was just what he'd read about in a history book. Bellatrix's (extremely graphic) war stories (which she loved to tell) usually took away his appetite.

"Tom didn't seem the fatherly type, if I remember correctly."

"Really?" Harry feigned surprise, though he decided that Dumbledore had just made the understatement of the year. "I never would have thought. I mean, what about being an evil Dark Lord says 'not-the-fatherly-type?'"

"Who is your mother?" McGonagall snapped, clearly annoyed. He noticed that her wand was actually in her hand now, but if she gripped it any more tightly it would undoubtedly snap.

"I don't know. I don't remember her. She died when I was little." The last part was true, though he did know that his mother's name had been Lily something-or-other. And, of course, that she'd been in Gryffindor and had been a mudblood. But, who really needed to know that?

"Died or was killed?" McGonagall muttered.

Harry shot her down with a glare. "I'm not really certain. But, you know, we were in the thick of the fighting, after all. Maybe an Auror tortured her to death during an interrogation?"

He turned back to the Headmaster. "Professor, as much as I enjoy talking with you, I have a big day tomorrow, what with it being the first day of classes and all. I would really like to go and get some rest." He glanced back at McGonagall, then pointedly at the wand she held. "After all, I'm sure I'll need a lot of energy to murder the entire student body, as is the mission from my Dark Master."

She quickly holstered the wand and had the grace to look a bit uncomfortable.

Dumbledore waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Professor Snape will take you to your common room. I'm sure young Mister Malfoy has saved a bed for you."

Relieved, Harry quickly went to get up, but Dumbledore seemed to notice something he hadn't previously seen. He stopped Harry with his voice.

"One more question, Mr. Riddle. How did you get that scar?"

Immediately knowing what he was referring to, Harry self-consciously reached up to his forehead and ghosted his fingers over the lightning bolt shaped scar that had been etched into his skin for as long as he could recall. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I've had it for as long as I can remember." He wasn't even sure if it was from some sort of physical injury or if it was a curse scar. He'd never even thought to ask his father, either, though in retrospect he didn't know why he hadn't.

Dumbledore nodded, a bit suspicious, but motioned for Severus to escort Harry to the dorm.

They quickly stepped out onto the moving staircase.

"Is he as senile as his choice of clothes make him out to be?" Harry asked after a long moment of silence.

"Not senile," said Severus. "Just a bit mad."

_

_

I know it's really short, but the next chapter will be much longer! Thanks for reviewing!!


	9. The Gringotts Mystery

Harry and Draco sat side by side in the front row of the dungeon potions classroom (on the Slytherin side, of course). It was fairly early in their very first day, and they'd only had Transfigurations class so far. McGonagall had not been pleasant, but even Harry had to admit that watching her turn herself into a cat, then back into a human, and then transfigure random objects all around the room into other, drastically different things was a bit entertaining.

After they'd been dismissed, they'd all tromped down to Slytherin territory, the dungeons, and watched happily as the Gryffindors became a bit nervous, whispering to each other that Snape was rumored to be strict and that their older siblings had told horror stories about him.

Both Harry and Draco grinned as the classroom door was abruptly flung open, hitting the wall with an extremely loud bang that echoed throughout the room and made most of the Gryffindors start. Professor Severus Snape stormed in, robes billowing out behind him. A large, light tan and black dog with alert ears, a bushy tail, and bright grey eyes trailed behind him, sniffing the floor and wagging its tail slightly.

Severus leaned back against his desk, managing to look threatening without even moving. The grey eyed dog meandered around the room, avoiding the Gryffindor side even though some of the girls reached out to pet her.

"You are here to learn the subtle science of potion making," the dark eyed professor began quietly. His voice was no louder than a whisper, but the whole class could hear him. The Gryffindors seemed to be getting intimidated, while the Slytherins listened attentively, completely calm. Strict as he was, it was no secret that Professor Snape blatantly favored his own House and therefore never took points from any Slytherin during his class, no matter how horribly they bungled a potion. On the other hand, when in the dungeons, it was open season on Gryffindors, who were routinely insulted, belittled, and severely punished for mistakes.

"As there is little foolish wand waving here," he continued, "many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses . . . I can teach you how to bottle frame, brew glory, even stopper death--if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Most of the Gryffindors exchanged bemused glances, while Harry got the impression that Hermione would've just loved that speech had she been present.

Snape suddenly snapped a question at an unlucky Gryffindor by the name of Dean Thomas: "Mr. Thomas, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

The Gryffindor looked a bit shocked, then befuddled. "I - I don't know, s- sir."

"Hmm. It seems that bravery does not necessarily equal brains."

The Slytherins snickered, earning them glares from the other side of the room.

"Weasley!!" Snape snapped.

A Gryffindor redheaded boy gulped. "Yes, P- Professor?"

"If I told you to find me a bezoar, where would you look?"

The boy seemed to grasp for words, while Snape tapped his booted foot against the stone floor impatiently.

"I- I'm not sure," was Weasley's eventual reply.

"Well, well, well. We seem to have a bit of a trend here. What is the difference, Patil, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Parvati Patil was yet another Gryffindor. She bit her lip for a few seconds before stuttering out, "I- I'm not sure of the difference, sir."

Snape tsk- tsk- tsked. "Does _anyone_ know the answers to my questions?"

Harry glanced at Draco, smirking. His arm found its way to a vertical position. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Mister Riddle?"

"Powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful that it's known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat that will save you from most poisons. Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, otherwise known as aconite."

"Very good. Twenty points to Slytherin for your willingness to open a book." Almost as an afterthought, Snape glanced around in disdain. "Well? Why aren't you writing any of this down?"

Everyone scrambled to get a quill and parchment.

* * *

"Flying lessons with the Gryffindors, oh joy," Draco muttered. "I think I might have preferred the Hufflepuffs."

Harry glanced over at him. "This is a momentous day. Draco Lucius Malfoy, pureblood extraordinaire, pride of Slytherin house, actually wants to take a class with Hufflepuffs."

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," their instructor, Madam Hooch, barked over their whispers. "And say 'Up!'"

Harry calmly stuck his hand out over the broom and shouted, "Up!!" The worn school broom jumped almost immediately into his hand, after hesitating for a few seconds. Draco's flew halfway up but dropped back down. Pansy Parkinson's rolled around on the ground and Blaise Zabini's barely rose a centimeter. Similar reactions were happening with the Gryffindors as well.

Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms so that they wouldn't end up sliding off the end in midair and plummeting to their deaths. She walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry couldn't contain a snort when she told Draco that he'd been doing it wrong for years. The blond glared at him.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, everyone kick off from the ground," she called to them, "Make sure to keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three - two - one -" Madam Hooch blew the whistle loudly. Harry and Draco both pushed off without a hitch, as did most of the other Slytherins and Gryffindors.

An unfortunate Slytherin by the name of Daphne Greengrass, however, was not so lucky. The poor girl was rising straight up uncontrollably.

"Come back, girl!!" Madam Hooch screeched, waving her arms about.

Suddenly, the broom seemed to spin out of control to a horrifying extent. It zipped, it zoomed, it ducked, it curved, it spun . . . Harry had to admire the girl for not getting sick all over herself.

Finally, the broom jolted to a halt, sliding Daphne off the handle and onto the ground. She collided with the grass with a sickening crack.

Madam Hooch bent over her, muttering something about a broken arm. The grey haired instructor led the poor Slytherin girl away to the hospital wing.

No sooner were they out of ear shot when a few Gryffindors burst into laughter.

"Did you see her face, the baby? Where's her sly and cunning now?"

"Shut up," Harry snapped.

"Oh, and who would you be?" a redhead, Weasley, asked. "Must be a Death Eater brat, I guess, since you already seem to be Malfoy's little lackey."

Harry bristled. "My name is Harry Riddle. I'd ask who you were, but there's no need. Red hair and hand-me-downs: it must be a Weasley. But which one are you? All the Weasleys have more children than they can afford. What was the grand total? Twelve? Fifteen, perhaps?"

The Weasley's face flushed as red as his hair in anger. "At least I'm a pureblood," he spat at Harry. "I don't recognize your name at all. Your father must be a muggle."

Harry was fairly certain he had never been so insulted in his entire life, nor so angry. The rest of the Slytherins even looked quite a bit insulted for him.

He tried to keep the rage hidden, instead settling for a raised an eyebrow. "Oh, what's this? A Weasley . . . _bragging _about being a pureblood? I thought they didn't do that! Your parents must be ashamed. But, they have so many of you . . . they've probably lost track. From what I hear, they don't even buy you new school supplies. You have your brother's old wand, another one of your brother's old robes, and yet another brother's old rat. My boots are probably worth more than your house."

Ron didn't reply, but the reddening of his face said enough.

"What?" Harry pushed. "Embarrassed that you don't have a knut to your name?"

Ron glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom were standing behind Harry and Draco. "I bet you wouldn't run your mouth as much if your bodyguards weren't here."

Harry snorted. "I'll take you on any time on my own. How about tonight? Wizard's duel. Wands only - no contact. Draco's my second. Who's yours? Or will no one volunteer because they don't want to fight for the loosing team?"

"I'm his second!" Seamus Finnigan growled.

"Fine then. Midnight in the trophy room; that door's always unlocked."

"You better show up," Seamus hissed.

"Oh, we will. I just hope you don't back out at the last minute. Time to demonstrate that Gryffindor bravery."

The boys all glared at each other until Madam Hooch came back.

* * *

Harry shifted impatiently from foot to foot before leaning over to hiss in Draco's ear: "I thought Care of Magical Creatures was optional and began in third year!"

"No. The Governors changed it last year. Father didn't say why. Now it's mandatory and begins in first year."

Harry disgustedly rolled his eyes.

"It's not that bad, Harry," Hermione chimed in. Ravenclaw had Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins instead of with the Hufflepuffs, though Harry couldn't fathom why. He had thought it was mandatory that the Slytherins and Gryffindors be in class together, so as to incessantly feud and not learn anything.

"I read my course book on it and it seems really easy," she continued eagerly.

"I know it's easy but--"

"Mister Riddle!!" a loud voice boomed. Harry glanced up at Professor Hagrid with a blasé look on his face. Truthfully, he'd been very surprised to find out Hagrid was an actual _teacher_, but he supposed it didn't take much brain to talk about animals all day long.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked dutifully.

"Stop talkin' an' pay attention! Since you seem to know so much abou' magical creatures that ya don't think you have to listen, why don't you tell me what a hippogriff is?"

"A hippogriff, professor, is a creature with the body of a horse and the head of a bird. They have a wingspan of about twenty or more feet and weigh a bit less than half a ton. They're very touchy and demand respect. You have to bow to them and keep eye contact before you try to approach them." Practically everyone in the Wizarding World knew what a hippogriff was; for his sixth birthday he'd tried to convince Bellatrix to get him one, but his father had said the very notion of it was absurd.

Hagrid made a disgruntled noise, and Harry thought that if he'd wanted him to not know the answer he should've asked a more difficult question.

"Ten points from Slytherin fer talkin', Riddle, and a detention with Professor Snape."

Harry seethed, tempted to make some scathing remark, but he reasoned that that would just lose more house points. But the whole confrontation made something crystal clear - Rubeus Hagrid had singled him out. And that begged a question - Why?

* * *

"What's his issue?" Harry spat out as he and Draco sat down at lunch.

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the Dark Lord did something to him and he recognizes your name. Who knows who all your father pissed off? Look at McGonagall, for Merlin's sake!"

Harry pursed his lips. He'd have to write his father about Hagrid. McGonagall might've hated him, but she wasn't fond of any of the Slytherins. Hagrid, meanwhile, was nice to everyone except him.

"Hey, you guys."

Harry looked over his shoulder at the hesitant greeting and found a bushy haired brunette girl hovering behind him. "Hermione? Shouldn't you be at the Ravenclaw table?"

"Yeah," she began, glancing over in the direction of the Ravenclaws, "but I thought that since there's no rule saying I can't . . . I might like to eat over here. If you're okay with it, of course," she added quickly.

Harry scooted over and patted the bench. Hermione wordlessly sat down, looking relieved.

"What was that professor, Hagrid, on about?" she asked after a moment of awkwardness, glancing up at the staff table. "You weren't really doing anything, just talking."

Harry nodded grimly.

"He singled you out for no--" Hermione trailed off as a loud hooting filled the air. "What's that?"

"Mail's here," Draco said excitedly.

Tons of owls flew into the Great Hall, dropping packages as they went. A well groomed tawny owl dropped a package in Draco's lap. Seconds later, a coal black owl delivered a letter and a neatly wrapped present into Harry's lap, along with the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.

Harry ripped the letter open first.

_Harry,_

_I heard that you were sorted into Slytherin. The news comes as a relief since I admit, I had my doubts. One of my spies reported that, as expected, the old Headmaster did interrogate you. I hope you weren't too intimidated. He portrays himself as a senile old fool but be assured that he is not. Always be cautious around him and make sure he never gains an upper hand over you. But, my spy did say that you handled everything - the train ride, the Sorting, and the questioning - very well._

_On the other hand, my spy has also reported that you are associating with a Ravenclaw mudblood girl. What have I told you about doing such things? What will it be next? A Gryffindor? A Hufflepuff? A muggle? Stay away from her._

_Other than that, I am very pleased with you. I might send Nagini to check on you in a few days._

_See you at Christmas, and please do burn this letter as soon as possible,_

_Your Father_

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Something wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"No. It's just my father being my father." Harry carefully tucked the letter away into his robe pocket and began to tear away at the brown paper wrapping on the package.

"What is it?" Draco demanded, idly scanning his own, very long letter, which Harry was sure his mother wrote. Lucius Malfoy usually didn't have that much to say to his son, while Narcissa had a tendency to gush at times.

Harry held up the small mirror that had been in the package. It was very plain, with bland silver trim around the edge.

"Is he trying to tell you to keep up with personal hygiene?" asked Draco, blinking a bit.

Harry shook his head as an image slowly began to form in the center of the mirror. Ronald Weasley was sitting in the Great Hall at the Gryffindor table, chatting to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan and shoveling food into his mouth.

Harry glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Sure enough, there was the redhead, talking with the two other boys.

"It's a foe-glass, I believe," Harry began. "I've heard of them. It shows what its owner's enemies are doing." Harry glanced in the mirror and then back at Weasley. His eyes narrowed. Discreetly, he pulled out his wand and whispered, "_Pilo_."

Laughter erupted around the Great Hall. Ron Weasley's now bald head flushed with anger. Weasley-red hair covered the floor around the Gryffindor table.

"Teach him for calling me a lackey," Harry muttered under his breath.

Hermione gulped. "Harry . . ."

"It'll grow back," Harry replied nonchalantly.

"Remind me never to make you mad," Draco murmured quietly.

Harry shrugged and unfolded his copy of the Daily Prophet. "Oh," Harry exclaimed, surprised. "This is odd."

"What?" asked Hermione and Draco simultaneously.

Harry shoved the paper in their direction.

**_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_**

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 1 August, widely believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier the same day._

_"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out of it if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

"The book I read said Gringotts was impossible to break into," said Hermione excitedly as soon as she'd read the last word.

"It'd take someone almost with your father's resources to do something as big as that," Draco said to Harry thoughtfully.

Hermione looked between them in confusion. "What does your father do, Harry?"

Harry surreptitiously glared at Draco before answering. "He's . . . very wealthy. I'm not really sure what he does," he lied, crossing his fingers under the table.

Hermione seemed to accept it, shrugging and going back to her food. Harry absentmindedly chopped his potatoes to bits, lost deeply in thought. He and his father had went to Gringotts on August first. Was it intentional that his father had 'forgotten' the money they needed for shopping? Had he wanted an excuse to be in the bank that day? And why did he take such an interest in Hagrid, a seemingly unimportant groundskeeper and professor at Hogwarts? What did the giant have to do with any of it? Which vault was broken into?

And, most importantly, what was in the vault?

_

_

It's a bit longer than the last chapter. I hope you like it!

EDIT: Added Snape's speech, which is quoted directly from the book. Don't know why I left it out in the first place.


	10. Detention With Severus

Harry rubbed the tan and black dog's head and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"What did you possibly _do_ to get yourself in detention on the first day, Harry?" Professor Snape asked, obviously exasperated.

Harry scowled dangerously. He was currently serving his 'detention' by sitting in his favorite professor's personal chambers, drinking some type of white Earl Grey tea and eating biscuits. Sabine, the grey eyed dog, curled up by his feet happily and looked up at him pleadingly for bits of food.

"That--that _dreadful_ Care of Magical Creatures professor--if you can even call him a 'professor'--Hagrid, took ten points and gave me this detention just for talking. Not before he first tried to embarrass me by seeing if I was too ignorant to even know what a bloody Hippogriff was. I knew, of course, but he was still being a complete git. Why would he hate me so much? It's not like I did anything other than talk. I wasn't even being loud. He made much more of a distraction by pointing it out." At least the man had been too stupid to send him to someone who would actually punish him; instead, his first detention was proving to be more of an afternoon tea.

"I'm sure he was just irritated you weren't paying attention, Harry," Severus muttered, but Harry couldn't help but notice he didn't quite meet his eyes as he said it. Severus, no matter how proficient he was at deceiving other people (and he was _very_ proficient), never seemed to be able to lie to him without giving himself away somehow. Harry narrowed his eyes at the man but didn't comment.

They were silent for several minutes, awkwardly content with their tea, until something he had been suspicious about resurfaced to the front of Harry's thoughts. "Why are you spying on me?"

Severus sat his cup down on the table and started to shake his head. "Why do you think--?"

"No. Tell me. Father was nice enough to inform me in a letter that the 'mudblood Ravenclaw girl' I'm hanging around with is entirely unsuitable to lick my boots. He went on to say that he almost wouldn't be surprised if I lowered myself to socializing with muggles and Gryffindors next."

"I _am_ your father's servant, Harry," Severus said, almost regretfully. "If he tells me to report back on you, I have to at least tell him the truth."

Harry scowled at him but couldn't really bring himself to get cross. He'd found that he could never get truly angry at Severus ever since he was about four years old.

A whimper turned his attention downwards towards Sabine, who was sitting on her haunches and holding her leash in her teeth. Her bushy tail glided back and forth.

A slow smile spread over Harry's face. "Severus?"

"Hmm?" he asked, picking his teacup back up and raising it to his lips.

"It's really a pity that I already lost ten points, isn't it? Might affect Slytherin getting the House Cup at the end of the year, couldn't it?"

Severus sipped his tea and shrugged. "I don't think _ten_ points could have that much effect in the long run—"

"We could lose," Harry interrupted. "Break our winning streak. Imagine if _Gryffindor_ won? We'd be shamed."

"We would," Severus agreed sincerely but slowly, clearly not understanding what Harry was getting at.

"And poor Sabine, being such a large dog, needs exercise. She's getting a bit fat."

Snape looked back and forth between Harry and Sabine for a second before comprehension lit his eyes. "Oh! Of course. Mr. Riddle, your duty for detention is to take Sabine for a long, long walk."

Harry smiled. "Yes, Professor."

"Good. Ten points to Slytherin for . . . aiding your Head of House."

Jumping up, Harry quickly clipped the leash onto Sabine's black leather collar and led her out the door, her tags jangling harshly against one another and claws clacking loudly on the cold floor. The noises eventually faded into complete silence.

Severus stared after him until he was long gone, finally whispering, "I'm your father's servant, Harry, but I belong to you."

_

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_

Short chapter, I know, but there will be more soon. School's almost out - only 13 days - and then I'll have a ton of time to write.

Thanks to everyone for reviewing!!


	11. A Chat With Nagini

Harry watched as the black and tan dog galloped around the quidditch pitch, running in mindless circles, chasing her tail, and tripping over herself.

He sighed and slid down onto the grass, crossing his legs. It didn't look like she was going to tire out any time soon. She wasn't really fat, just very large boned and tall. He didn't know what breed she was, but she was extremely active, well within the realm of hyper. When inside for too long, she had the tendency to knock furniture over, and when outside, the wide open spaces apparently made her a bit overwhelmed and giddy.

Keeping an eye on her, Harry let his mind drift back to the Gringotts mystery. It really would help if he at least knew which vault had been broken into, and he still didn't know what Hagrid could possibly have to do with it, or why his father was interested either, or if Dumbledore had anything to do with it . . .

But at that, something came together in Harry's head. He could almost imagine he heard a 'click'. _Dumbledore._

He remembered Dumbledore's words at the start of term feast: "_And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death._"

It couldn't be a coincidence that Hagrid, one of Dumbledore's lackeys, was at Gringotts earlier on the day that it was robbed. No, no, it was no coincidence, he was sure of it. He was also beginning to doubt that his father was responsible for the attempted theft. Since they were there that day, and he saw Hagrid empty the vault, there would have been no reason to waste time and money on breaking into one of the most secure places in the world. Of course, that begged the question of who else had the resources to do so, but he supposed the more important matter was what it was everyone wanted to steal so badly.

But that brought Harry to another dilemma. He was fairly certain that whatever it was that had been taken out of the vault was at Hogwarts in the third floor corridor on the right-hand side, but now he had to figure out a way to get into that particular part of the school without being seen. And then, once he was there, what was so dangerous that he might end up dying a very painful death?

_Hello, child._

Harry almost jumped ten feet off of the ground at the unexpected hissing sound, but calmed down when he registered its familiarity.

_Nagini_, Harry hissed back sharply. _Must you sneak up on me like that?_

The large, black snake hissed in a parody of laughter, curling around herself and gently swaying her head back and forth. _You seemed to be lost in thought, my dear child. What are you so deeply focused on?_

_Nothing important_, he lied._ School. Homework. Revenge on people who have angered me. That kind of thing._

The snake's tongue flicked out. _You smell like dog, Harry._

Harry nodded in the direction of Sabine, who had, by now, found her way onto the bleachers and was skidding up and down the rows, ever so often slamming into the seats. _Sabine, Severus __Snape's__ dog. I'm walking her to gain back House points._

_Points? You've already lost some?_

_The awful Care of Magical Creatures professor, __Hagrid__, apparently thought I was talking too much. Ten points and a detention with Severus._

_Hagrid__? __Rubeus__Hagrid__? _Nagini questioned sharply, coiling in a bit more.

Harry's eyes widened. _Yes! You know him?_

_I've . . . heard of him,_ she responded carefully.

_Why does he hate me? Do you know?_

Nagini ignored his questions. _I heard from that new snake of yours, what's his name? Montague? About that incident with the __Weasley__ brat in the Great Hall._

_He's a git. Worse than a git. He called me a **lackey**. A _lackey_. He even challenged me to a duel. The nerve . . . _

_Did you accept?_

_Of course not, __Nagini__. Even I know better than that._

Chances are if Nagini had had an eyebrow she would've raised it in skepticism, but she decided not to comment, opting instead to stare at the frolicking dog in the distance. Finally, she spoke, _Your father also told me to remind you to stay away from the __mudblood__Ravenclaw__ girl. It's very inappropriate for you to be around her._

Harry glared down at her. _Tell my hypocritical father that I think she could be a very valuable asset for the Death Eaters in the future. She's powerful and already interested in the Dark Arts. It's not as if she's a bloody __Gryffindor__, unlike my mother, who he bloody knocked up--_

Nagini calmly interrupted him. _You may want to watch that foul dog of yours a bit closer._

_What?_ Harry looked back over at Sabine. He was on his feet in a flash. "Sabine! Stop trying to eat Mrs. Norris!!!"

_

_

Another short chapter, but the next one will be much longer, I promise.

Many of you asked about what is going on with Harry and Severus . . . I can't really tell without giving a lot of the story away, but I am a Snape/Harry fangirl (hint, hint).

I have the flu, so I have a lot of free time on my hands. The next chapter will be up very soon.

Only 11 days of school left!!!!


	12. Behind the Locked Door

The clock had struck half past eleven by the time that Harry and Draco snuck out of the dungeons. They had made their way quietly down the hall when a soft voice pierced the silence. "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

"_You_," Draco growled. "Stay out of this, mudblood, and go back to bed!!"

Hermione now seemed to be aware of what the word 'mudblood' meant, and she looked as though she wanted to hex him.

"I could have told Filch, you know," she said instead. "He'd have put a stop to this."

"Why you know-it-all little mudb--"

"Quit, Draco," said Harry sharply, even though he himself was more than a little annoyed with her. It wouldn't do to have a fight in the middle of the halls and attract the attention of Mrs. Norris. "Hermione, _why_ are you here? Aren't you supposed to be asleep in Ravenclaw Tower? Or studying? I heard the library got a new book, why don't you go read it?"

"I couldn't let you do something like this!" exclaimed Hermione. "You could lose so many points from Slytherin!"

"What do you care?" Draco snapped. "You're not in Slytherin! But you could end up losing points from Ravenclaw if you don't go back to your dorm!"

"Hermione, I'm not even sure how you found out about this, but . . . I suppose if you want to come with us, you can. If you're just here to be a bother, though, please go back to Ravenclaw Tower. Now we've got to go or we're going to be late." With those words, Harry and Draco both went back to tiptoeing down the hall.

Hermione huffed indignantly before taking off after the two boys. The three of them walked in a strained silence until they had almost reached the entrance to the cellar, where they would find the staircase leading to the second floor.

Harry suddenly skidded to a halt.

"Do you hear that?"

Draco and Hermione both stopped breathing for a moment and listened intently. Sure enough, there was a quiet snuffling sound permeating through the corridor.

"Mrs. Norris?" Hermione breathed.

Harry exhaled an exasperated sigh of relief. "No." The black-haired Slytherin walked up a few steps and nudged a previously unseen lump that was sprawled on the floor. "Hey! Wake up! Er . . . Hufflepuff! Up!"

The lump, which turned out to be the pudgy toad boy from the Hogwarts Express, jerked suddenly awake. "Oh, thank goodness you found me!" he exclaimed, blinking blearily up at them.

"I forgot the password . . ." he continued, but trailed off once he noticed exactly _who_ had found him. He let out a small whimper. "Oh, um, I- I . . ."

"Scared of Slytherins?" Draco muttered, annoyed.

The boy nodded mutely. Draco rolled his eyes.

"I f- forgot the password."

"We don't have the password for Hufflepuff," Harry told him. "Sorry. And we've really got to be somewhere. So I hope you remember it--"

"Don't leave me!" The boy was on his feet in a snap. "Please! The Bloody Baron has been past here twice already, and I'm sure that the next time he sees me he'll--"

"Fine," Harry gritted out, clenching his fists. His first real duel, and he couldn't even get there on time because he was surrounded by idiots! "But, let me tell you, Hufflepuff, we're going to a duel."

"A duel?" he repeated, his eyes wide.

"Yes, one of those things where you cast curses at each other. But, if you _ever_ tell anyone about it, I'll do something to you much worse than anything the Bloody Baron ever could."

The boy visibly gulped.

Draco scowled at Hermione and the boy. "And if either of you get us caught, I'll hex you with the darkest curse I know."

The Hufflepuff whimpered again, but Hermione just opened her mouth, possibly to ask which curse was the darkest he knew. Before she could form the words, though, Harry hissed at her to be quiet and they all started up the stairs to the next floor.

Finally, after winding their way through tons of twisting corridors and managing to avoid Filch and Mrs. Norris, they scrambled up the staircase to the third floor and quietly entered the Trophy Room.

Weasley and Finnigan were already there. "Finally," the redhead snapped. "I thought you weren't going to come."

"What, you thought we'd hide out in shadows like the slimy Slytherins we are? Well, I'll have you know that Slytherins are _not_ cowards. We were a bit late because these two insisted on tagging along." Harry motioned to Hermione and the Hufflepuff.

"Since when does Neville Longbottom hang out around Slytherins?" Seamus asked skeptically.

Harry glanced over at the Hufflepuff. "Oh, yes, I never did ask your name. Neville Longbottom, is it?" He thought he vaguely recognized the name 'Longbottom' but he couldn't be sure.

The boy nodded.

"My cat caught your toad."

"Oh," he said, frowning. "I wondered where those teeth marks came from."

"Can we get on with it?" Weasley asked impatiently.

Harry pulled out his wand. "Of course, Ronnikins."

The redhead flushed in anger and embarrassment and drew his wand. Finnigan did the same and positioned himself a few paces behind Ron. Hermione pulled Neville out of the line of fire. They both moved to stand off in a shadowy corner behind Harry. Draco, being Harry's second, tightened his grip on his wand and slowly backed up a few steps.

"Why are there two on each side?" murmured Neville.

"The second's there in case the first gets killed," she said. "I read about it in _Behind Closed Doors: Dueling as a Dispute Settler_."

"Killed?" Neville managed hoarsely.

"Now," Weasley began loudly, "we all turn around and walk five steps in the opposite direction. Then, on the count of three, we spin around and begin the duel. _No cheating_!!"

"We won't as long as _you_ don't," Harry snapped.

Weasley glared daggers at him. "I'm a Gryffindor, remember? I happen to not use any means to achieve my ends."

"At least I can get things done," Harry muttered back.

"Who's going to count?"

"I will!" Hermione said quickly.

The two Gryffindors scrutinized her suspiciously. She rolled her eyes. "How am I going to cheat by just saying 'one, two, three'?"

"Fine," Weasley said sharply. "Now come on. We've been pussyfooting around too long."

All four of the duelist turned on their heels and took five steps away from each other.

Hermione began counting. "One - two - three!!"

Harry spun around the quickest. "_Aguamenti_!!"

Water shot from the end of his wand, spraying Weasley in the face. The Gryffindor made a strangled exclamation and began rubbing at his stinging eyes.

Harry took the opportunity to cast a quick, "_Expelliarmus_!!"

The redhead's wand flew from his hand as his body was flung backwards. Finnigan had to drop to the floor so he wouldn't collide with his dueling partner.

"_Accio wand_," Harry called. The old piece of wood flew into his hand. Harry stood there for a few minutes, cracking his knuckles and staring at Weasley, who, by this time, was struggling to get to his feet. Finnigan seemed to have forgotten all about the duel, opting to cower in the corner instead.

"Hmm," Harry said thoughtfully, still staring at Weasley, who was still on the floor. "You need a bit of help up?" he asked politely. The Slytherin held his wand out loosely. "_Levicorpus._"

The redhead's eyes widened as his ankles began to rise over his head, followed slowly by the rest of his body. His ascension didn't stop until his feet were almost touching the ceiling. Harry flicked his wand and Weasley began to spin, slowly at first, until he was going so quickly that the children on the ground were getting a bit dizzy just by watching.

"PUT ME DOWN!!!!" Weasley screeched.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but a voice echoed in from the hall that made him freeze in place.

"Sniff around, my sweet. I can hear them. They might be lurking in a corner."

"It's Filch," Hermione hissed.

"Great going, you fool," Harry snapped at Weasley, who didn't seem to hear him and continued making distressed noises.

"Every House for itself!" Draco announced.

"What about me?!!" Weasley screamed.

Harry rolled his eyes and shouted, "_Liberacorpus_!!!" Weasley stopped spinning suddenly and dropped to the ground with a 'thump'.

Harry waved wildly for Neville, Hermione, and Draco to follow him quickly around a corner. He could swear he heard his companions' heartbeats in the complete silence of the corridor. He had no idea where the two Gryffindors had ran off to, and at this point he decided he really didn't much care.

"They must be around here somewhere, sweet," Filch murmured lovingly to his cat.

Harry silently motioned for others to follow him down a long hall which was lined with suits of armor. He grimaced every time one of Filch's footsteps rang out. Suddenly, Neville let out a warning squeak as his feet tangled in his robes and he started to fall.

Harry watched, mortified, as Neville's body impacted with a suit of armor. Almost as if in slow motion, the armor tottered on its feet, trying to stay balanced. Harry shut his eyes and gulped. This could not end well.

The horrible clashing and clanking of the suit of armor when it crashed into the suit that stood next to it was loud enough to wake everyone in the school, even the Slytherins in the dungeons, but when that suit fell into the suit next to it, which fell into the suit next to that suit, which also impacted with the armor standing to its right, setting off a chain reaction which toppled every single suit of armor that lined the hall, Harry was sure all of Great Britain heard it.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, before screaming, "RUN!!"

And run was exactly what they did. They ran like the hounds of hell were on their tails. None of them looked back to see if Filch or Mrs. Norris were following them, and none of them paid much attention as to where they were going. They ran through corridors, down halls, up flights of stairs, and around corners. Eventually, they ran out of places to run. They had come to a closed and locked door.

Harry frantically pulled out his wand and whispered, "_Alohomora_!"

The lock clicked and Harry swung the door open. He held it like that until everyone managed to get in, before he himself entered the room and quietly closed the door.

"Everyone . . . okay?" Harry gasped out.

All the children nodded mutely, too busy trying to catch their breath to talk.

In between gasps for air, Harry noticed something odd. It sounded like a low, dangerous growl, like from some type of immensely gigantic animal.

A sinking feeling in his gut, he slowly moved his eyes, then head, in the direction of the noise and froze. Staring back at him were two, very large eyes. Slowly looking down, he realized that he was looking at a giant, three-headed, incredibly vicious-looking dog.

Harry did the only thing he could think of in a situation such as this: he screamed bloody murder to alert the others to the threat, and then swung the door open and ran like he had never run before, even a few minutes earlier away from Filch and Norris.

The four fled blindly down towards the dungeons, jumping down staircases and smacking into walls on tight turns. Harry screamed the password at the Slytherin portrait and they all rushed into the common room, then through it towards the dormitory rooms. Harry ran past the entrance to his and Draco's room and had to skid to a halt and run back a few feet. He shouted the password and ran through the portrait, as did Hermione, Draco, and Neville, who sped after him into the room.

The portrait closed of its own accord and he pulled out his wand and cast every locking charm he knew. After he was thoroughly satisfied that the monster dog couldn't get into the room, he slid down the wall to the floor. His thoughts were racing, but one came through loud and clear - he now knew what was so dangerous about the third floor corridor. A painful death, indeed.

"What in the hell do they think they're doing, keeping a bloody three headed dog in a school full of children?!" Draco shouted, pacing back and forth between his and Harry's bed and wringing his hands, even as his chest heaved up and down.

"It was guarding a trap door," said Hermione between gasps for breath. She collapsed on one of the beds next to Neville, who was hyperventilating. "I saw it down by its paws."

And under that trap door was whatever Hagrid had taken from Gringotts. Harry was sure of it.

_

_

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Tried to make it longer than the last few chapters. Thanks to everyone who took time to review!!


	13. Unforgivable

"Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick!!"

Harry raised his wand, rather absentmindedly. He didn't much need Flitwick's instruction. He had used his father's wand to perform the levitation spell several times when he was younger, though his father had watched him closely, not trusting him with something so important to him.

"_Wingardium Leviosa,_" he shouted, swishing and flicking. The feather sitting on the desk in front of him slowly rose about five feet to hover over their heads.

"Oh, w-well d-done, Mr. R-Riddle," Flitwick stuttered out, almost starting to shake again. Harry found it amusing that all the teachers who knew that he was Voldemort's son could never talk to him without a quiver in their voice.

Seeming to gain some composure, the professor more clearly managed: "Look, everyone, Mr. Riddle has done it!"

On the Gryffindor side of the room, Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan scowled. They were both in very bad moods by the end of the class.

* * *

Crossing his arms over his chest, Harry glared at the bats that swooped down over the tables, then out at the entire Hall, which was decorated with pumpkins and candles and anything else Dumbledore thought would make a good Halloween decoration.

He hated Halloween. He had always hated Halloween, in fact. In the first place, he thought it was a terrible muggle mockery of Wizarding Customs. Witches with huge moles on their noses - he snorted.

And then . . . there was always . . .

"You seem rather subdued tonight, Harry," Pansy said perkily, popping a piece of candy into her mouth. She sat next to Millicent Bulstrode, who had chocolate almost all over her face.

Draco, Blaise, and the rest of the little Death Eater sycophants all nodded their agreements.

"Excuse me if I'm not a beacon of joy and light," Harry snapped. "My mother was murdered ten years ago on Halloween."

"Oh." Pansy sounded like she wished she hadn't ever spoken to him. The rest of the Death Eater children all apparently found their food fascinating.

That was the other reason he hated Halloween. Most children grow up thinking that their parents can do no wrong, but Harry never really had that, at least once he realized that the things his father did weren't considered moral by the world at large. He'd known ever since then that his father was a very bad man, but he could accept that. He hadn't been born on the 'good' side of things, he wasn't supposed to find anything wrong with his father's behavior.

However, when he was seven, he had accidently discovered that his father had murdered his mother, thanks to a bout of reminiscing on Bellatrix's part. And he'd struggled with_ that_ more than he ever had with any of the other numerous crimes he knew his father had committed. He didn't know why, he just had trouble wrapping his mind around it.

But even though his mother's murder disturbed him, he was usually able to put it out of his mind. Not on Halloween, though. It just dragged all the morbid questions and insecurities he had about the . . . justifiability . . . of his father's actions right back up to the center of his thoughts.

Harry was thankfully brought out of his reverie by the rather loud arrival of Professor Quirrell, who came sprinting into the Great Hall, the doors banging against the wall behind him. Somehow pale and greenish all at the same time, the man looked about ready to collapse, but he managed to make it to the middle of the hall before stopping.

"Troll!! Troll in the dungeons!" he exclaimed, and after a long, unsure pause, he continued, taking a deep, unsteady breath. "Thought you ought to know."

The pathetic excuse for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher fell to the floor in a dead faint.

As soon as he hit the ground, the entire Great Hall burst into hysteria. Harry sneered down his nose at his panicking classmates while sitting calmly, still taking a few hurried bites of his meal. No wonder no other Dark Lords had risen since 1981, if everyone to graduate from Hogwarts was this incompetent when it came to dark creatures.

Dumbledore finally managed to quiet the rest of the Hall down.

"Prefects! Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

* * *

"How could a bloody troll even get in?" Harry asked, annoyed, while gracefully weaving his way through the large crowd that had formed in the halls. Draco stumbled to keep up with him. Harry glared at a confused Hufflepuff who stumbled into his path. "Move," he growled in a low voice. The poor boy whimpered and ran in the other direction.

"Aren't trolls supposed to be stupid?" he continued. "You know, one thing on the mind - must find food. If my father can't even manage to get into this bloody castle, how can a troll who has the IQ of a worm?"

"Maybe Peeves let him in," Draco suggested, shrugging. "Halloween joke?"

"I'll set the Bloody Baron on him if he did," Harry snapped.

"Hey! You! Riddle!"

Harry glowered in the direction of Padma Patil, who pushed her way in between two Ravenclaw girls to stand anxiously in front of him. "Yes, Patil?" he asked coldly.

"Have you seen Hermione? I can't find her and I know she's been hanging around you and Malfoy and I wondered if you've seen her because--"

"I haven't seen her since Care of Magical Creatures," he said shortly.

"Oh." Her face fell. "Thanks, anyway." The girl turned around and went to find someone else to ask.

"I know where she is!" a voice spoke up from behind them. Harry spun around, only to come face to face with Lavender Brown.

"Where?" he demanded.

"The girls' bathroom. Ron Weasley said something to her earlier and she ran off crying. She said she wanted to be left alone."

"That bastard," Harry muttered. "She doesn't know about the troll, does she?"

"Who cares?!" Draco shouted, glancing nervously back in the direction of the Great Hall. "She's not our problem. I, personally, don't want to end up troll food. So lets get back to the dorm and just wait it--"

"Weasley, of all people, does not insult my . . . acquaintances . . . and think he can get away with it," Harry declared vehemently. "Come on, Draco. We're going to find her."

"WHAT?!!"

"Shut your mouth, nitwit, before the prefect notices."

Harry grabbed Draco's wrist and swiftly ran behind a corner. He paused momentarily to mentally map out the directions to the girls' bathroom. Finally he decided which corridor to take and pulled Draco along after him.

The blond hissed in his ear: "I cannot believe that you are risking your life for a mudblood! You know what, I don't even care if you're risking your life - you're risking _my _life!"

"Ooh, bravo, Draco. Carrying on the Malfoy Family Tradition of self-preservation. Daddy must be proud."

"I don't even like the mudblood! This must be some kind of twisted mommy issue you have! Protect the mud--"

Harry stopped abruptly and pushed Draco back against the wall, cutting off his quietly hissed rant. "Do you hear that?" he whispered.

Draco's eyes widened. "Footsteps," he mouthed. Harry nodded.

The two boys peered around the wall. "Uncle Severus," they both whispered at the same time.

The black haired potions professor paused in his rapid pace and slowly glanced over his shoulder.

Harry and Draco darted back around the corner before he could see them. They barely breathed until they heard his footsteps grow softer and softer and finally disappear.

"What the hell does he think he's doing? Shouldn't he be looking for the troll in the dungeons with rest of the teachers?"

"Do you think I care? If it was up to me, I'd be in the safe part of the dungeons in our warm, monster-free room instead of tramping around trying to find a mudblood - a _mudblood_, Harry!"

Harry grabbed Draco by the wrist again and jolted him away from the wall. "He's heading towards the third floor."

"Wait," said Draco suddenly, pausing to sniff. "Do you _smell_ that?"

Harry sniffed and made a strange choking noise low in his throat. "Merlin. I haven't smelt something that bad since Dad made me traipse through the Transylvanian swamps with him and the head of that vampire cult . . ."

Draco looked at him strangely.

"Do you hear that?" he asked abruptly, blinking into the darkness in front of them.

Draco gulped. "Y- yes."

It was a low, growling, grunting noise that seemed to come from deep in the chest. Harry watched as Draco suddenly turned and looked over his shoulder, his eyes widening drastically. He raised a shaky finger and pointed behind Harry. The black haired boy slowly turned around.

"Oh," he said shortly, a bit numb. "Dad never mentioned that trolls were that big."

Harry and Draco quickly receded back into the shadows and watched as the troll meandered through a doorway.

"The key's in the lock," Harry muttered. "Circe knows why. We could try to lock it in."

"What's this '_we_' that you're on about? You're the one who--"

Harry didn't wait for Draco to finish his rant. In one swift motion, he darted out of the shadows, slammed the door shut and locked it. He backed up a few feet, the key still clutched in his hand and pressed tightly to his chest.

"You've done the hero bit," said Draco, moving quickly back the way they'd came, "thwarted the big bad troll, now _let's go_!!"

Harry tore his gaze away from the door and turned to follow Draco back to the dorm. He hadn't gotten five feet when he heard something that almost made him topple over from the sheer unexpectedness of it - a high, terror-filled scream.

"Bloody hell," Harry hissed.

"The mudblood?" Draco asked, eyes even wider then they'd already been.

"The girls' bathroom! We just locked the bloody thing in the one place we didn't want it to go!"

Harry gritted his teeth and turned sharply on his heel, swiftly walking back to the door. Draco rather reluctantly followed. Harry fumbled with the key, finally managing to unlock the door. Grimacing, he slowly opened it.

The troll had Hermione Granger backed up against the far wall. The bathroom was in a complete state of destruction, with broken stalls, smashed sinks, and pipes that spurted water out onto the cracked floors.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Draco screamed, resisting the urge to flail about in a panic.

"I don't know! Isn't it supposed to be stupid? Confuse it! Distract it!"

Muttering about risking his life for mudbloods, Draco picked up a piece of rubble and threw it against the wall.

The troll paused, its tiny brain trying to register what had made the noise. It turned around slowly, finally noticing Harry and Draco's presence. The huge monster lifted its club and began to stomp towards the boys.

"Oh, brilliant plan, Harry! Now it's after _us_!!" Draco quickly began to back away, feeling along the wall for the door.

"Uh, uh . . ." Harry's mind flashed back to some of his Aunt Bella's self defense training. He pulled his wand and cast the first spell that popped into his head. "_Crucio_!!!"

Red light shot from the tip of his wand and hit the troll square in the chest. The monstrous creature dropped like a rock, writhing in pain. The bathroom shook from the vibrations that the troll's wild movements caused.

But, while the strong torture curse did manage to drop the creature, it couldn't last forever. As soon as the after effects had worn off, the troll began to get up for another round, trembling slightly with the aftereffects.

Harry was now in a state of panic. He shouted another spell that entered his mind: "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The troll's club, which had been carelessly dropped when the monster was hit with Cruciatus, flew from the bathroom floor, hovered in midair for a few seconds, and finally dropped - right on the troll's head.

The troll's eyes glazed over and it fell back down. It lay unmoving.

"Is it - is it dead?" Hermione asked hoarsely, slowly pushing away from the wall and moving towards the downed creature.

"Er . . ." Harry leaned over it slightly, careful to not get too close. "I think it's just unconscious."

They stood there in an awkward silence for a few seconds until Hermione suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes widening. "You used an Unforgivable!" It sounded as if she had just realized that.

"Yes," Harry snapped in a tone demanding that she shut-up.

But she didn't.

"Where on earth you learn how to use that? I read that it was hard to cast one of them!"

"My . . . aunt taught me."

"Who's your aunt, then? Isn't it illegal to--?"

Loud racket coming from the hall outside ended Hermione's impromptu interrogation, and Harry felt both relieved and once again panicky.

Draco's eyes almost bulged out of his head. "Teachers!! We're going to be expelled!!"

Harry looked around frantically. "Can we get out of here?!"

Sadly, it was too late. Professor McGonagall came bursting into the bathroom, closely followed by Professors Snape and Quirrell, the latter of whom had apparently recovered from his faint.

"What do you think you are doing?!" McGonagall screeched, coming close to reaching a banshee's level. Snape pulled out his wand and cautiously leaned over the troll. Quirrell looked like he was having a heart attack.

Harry tried to think of some appropriately witty response but was failing horribly. "We were--"

"They were looking for me!" Hermione announced from behind them. "They - they were looking for me. I'd read all about trolls and I went looking for it because I thought - I thought I could deal with it. I'm not sure what came over me, but if they hadn't came and helped me I'd be dead by now. Harry - Harry cursed it with - with something and then cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ on its club and hit it on its head with it. They didn't have a chance to go and find anyone to help. It had me cornered when they arrived."

Harry put on a mask of cool indifference, as if this story wasn't at all new to him.

"Well - in that case - ten points from Ravenclaw for recklessly endangering yourself, you foolish girl. How could you ever think that you could take on a full grown mountain troll by yourself?!"

Hermione hung her head, doing a lovely job of looking guilty. "I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall. As I said, I don't know what came over me. I was caught up in the moment. But I've learned my lesson. I'll never do anything like this again. Ever."

"You better not! Now, if you're not injured, make your way back to Ravenclaw Tower immediately."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall." Hermione bowed her head and exited quickly.

"As I am not your head of house, I'll let Professor Snape deal with you two."

Snape left his spot hovering over the troll and stood by Professor McGonagall. "Well, I'd say that you acted like complete idiots. Rushing into a dangerous situation like this for someone who you barely know. So, ten points from Slytherin."

"But--" Harry began.

"But, even if you were careless, you handled it very well. Most first years couldn't tackle a full grown mountain troll. Twenty points to Slytherin."

Harry and Draco smiled brightly, while McGonagall scowled.

"Headmaster Dumbledore will have to be informed of this, though."

It was Harry's turn to scowl.

"You may go."

Harry and Draco scurried away to the dungeons.

From that time on, though, Hermione Granger, a muggleborn, did what no other muggleborn before or after her had been able to do - become genuine friends with Lord Voldemort's son.

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**Author's Note: **Six days of school left, then I'm getting my tonsils out, and then I'm going to Washington D.C. Hope to write a lot more over the summer.


	14. It Wasn't Very Slytherin Of Him

Headmaster Dumbledore leaned back against his chair and looked across his desk at Professor Snape.

"Well? How did he stop the troll?"

"There is evidence that Riddle may have used the Cruciatus Curse to originally drop the troll and then cast _Wingardium Leviosa _on its club to knock it unconscious."

"The Cruciatus? He can already use the torture curse? And he can cast one powerful enough to drop a fully grown mountain troll?" Dumbledore clicked his tongue. "I think it begs the question of how many other Unforgivables he knows. He could be dangerous to the other children."

"He's only eleven, Headmaster. I doubt he will go on a killing spree anytime soon--"

"You seem to be awfully quick to defend a boy who you claimed to have no knowledge of before the Sorting Ceremony."

Severus shrugged the Headmaster's comment off. "I only think that it would be prudent to keep the boy within Hogwarts, where you can watch him."

The headmaster popped a lemon drop into his mouth and sucked on it for several moments before speaking. "It wasn't a very Slytherin thing to do, was it, Severus?"

Snape looked at him oddly. "What?"

"Running into a bathroom with no preparation to save a girl he barely knew. A muggleborn at that. Not very Slytherin of him."

Severus slowly shook his head. "No, no, I guess it wasn't."

"Not something Tom would have ever done." Dumbledore picked up another lemon drop. "I would describe it as something that a . . . Gryffindor might do."

"It would have taken a large amount of courage and bravery. Reckless bravery," the potions professor said cautiously.

"Gryffindor traits. Now, where would Tom Marvolo Riddle's son, an heir of Slytherin, have gotten the audacious courage and foolish bravery of a Gryffindor?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** A short chapter, I know. Next one will be longer - Harry finds the mirror of Erised. Wanna guess what - or who - he sees in it?

This is possibly the happiest day of my life - I HAVE GRADUATED!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No more middle school!!! Eighth grade is offically over!! School is finally OUT!!! Life is wonderful bliss!!!!!!!!!

Enough of my mindless raving. I hope you enjoyed. Thanks to the many people who reviewed!


	15. The Deepest Desire

_Laughter. High, cold, cruel laughter. "You should be more careful who you cheat on your husband with," a voice began tauntingly. " It might come back to haunt you."_

_"Stay away from me!!" a woman's voice screamed back._

_"I'll give you two choices. You can get out of my way and let me take what is rightfully mine, or you can stay here and I can kill you."_

_"I'll never let you have him, you bastard!!! Leave us alone!!"_

_"So be it, mudblood. _**Avada Kedavra**!_" _

Harry shot up in bed, green light still dancing in his mind. After his heavy breathing finally returned to normal he stole a glance at the clock. 2:22 AM.

He sighed disgustedly. He knew he'd never get back to sleep after that nightmare without having it again.

He turned his head towards Draco's bed. The blond was sound asleep. Harry sneered at him.

Sighing again, he threw the covers off of his feet and stood up. It was time to explore the school a bit.

* * *

Harry ducked in a door and huddled down in a corner. He'd been trying to get to the Restricted section of the library, but Flich and his bloody menace of a cat had been on the prowl and he thought they'd spotted him. 

After listening for several minutes and coming to the conclusion that Flich evidently hadn't seen him, Harry was about to turn around and leave, but a glint on the far side of the classroom caught his eye.

He quietly maneuvered his way around piles of chairs and desks and finally stopped a few feet away from a very large mirror. He squinted at what looked like an inscription at the top. It slowly came into focus.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. _

Harry grinned rather idiotically. "The Mirror of Erised!!" he exclaimed, a bit too loudly, he realized. His eyes widened and he clamped a hand over his mouth. He stood in silence for a few seconds, but once he was sure that no lurking teachers had heard him, he relaxed.

Cautiously, Harry scooted closer to the mirror and finally stepped in front of it. Slowly, very slowly, an image began to form. There was a woman, a beautiful woman, waving and smiling at him. Her hair was a dark red color and her eyes---

Harry bit his lip and did a double take.

Her eyes were a bright emerald green - _his_ _green. _And they were the exact same shape as his, as well.

Harry had moved so close to the mirror that his nose was nearly touching the glass.

Who was this woman? As soon as he asked the question, he got the answer.

"M- Mum? My Mother?"

Harry really had no idea how long he stood there. He was vaguely aware that his jaw was still hanging open from the shock and that his feet were beginning to hurt, but for some reason he didn't make any attempt to move.

No attempt, that is, until a sudden noise jolted him back to reality.

Harry shook his head and quickly backed away from the mirror. He spun on his heels and didn't stop running until he got back to the dungeons.

* * *

"So what are you doing for Christmas, Hermione?" Harry asked while picking through his dinner. He was only half awake, as he'd been having that same dream over and over again.

Hermione's fork paused halfway to her mouth and she was silent for a moment. Finally she said, "Oh, I'll probably just stay at home with my sisters and parents."

Harry couldn't help but notice her voice sounded a bit strained.

"What are you doing, Harry?" she asked quickly.

Harry shrugged and shriveled his face into a mask of annoyance. "Dad will probably have some sort of business trip he'll take me on."

"Does your father go on a lot of business trips?"

Harry nodded. "Uh-hmm. For as long as I can remember he's been on the go. He mainly stays in the British Isles but he's gone everywhere at one point or another."

"And he takes you with him? That must be fascinating. But how did you go to school?"

"I was homeschooled. So was Draco."

Hermione glanced at the aforementioned blond. He just nodded absently at her, too absorbed in the Daily Prophet to say anything.

"So, how many countries have you been to?"

"Eleven. Romania, Egypt, France, India, Arabia, Russia, China, America, Italy, Ireland, and Scotland." Harry paused. "Well, twelve counting England."

Hermione looked positively entranced. "That many countries?! I think that's so--"

Harry grimaced. This was going to be a long night. Once Hermione got on a subject, she never shut-up.

"--types of culture and--"

* * *

**Author's Note: Had my tonsils out a few days ago. As it turns out, it is very hard to string a sentence together after surgery. But, I'm feeling better now (thank god for pain medication) and tomorrow my mother might actually let me eat some solid food. Yum.**

**The chapter isn't as long as I intended it to be, but the next chapter will feature Harry on Christmas vacation, and I'm pretty sure it's going to be more lengthy. **

**I would like to give my heartfelt thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I love feedback!**


	16. The Muggles of Hangleton

Germany, Harry decided, was a boring country. It wasn't at all like England or even France. The language was odd and the buildings had strange architecture. Munich itself seemed rather obsessed with beer. He'd tried some of the stuff in an attempt to soak up local color but had had to spit it out. It'd tasted sharp and a bit sour, and just . . . bad. It was freezing cold outside, as well, with two feet of snow covering the ground, though he supposed that wasn't any different from England.

"Why did we have to come here? I'd have rather have stayed home. What's with all this bloody traveling you do?"

"I have business here, Harry. Would you have rather stayed at the Manor by yourself all Christmas?"

"Maybe."

"You wouldn't have," Tom replied. "You would've gotten bored, then destructive and ended up blowing something up or alerting all the muggles in Little Hangleton to the fact that magic exists."

Harry glared at him. "I could have went to Malfoy Manor for Christmas," he huffed. "I could have been with Draco and Aunt Narcissa and Lucius. I probably would have even seen Bella and maybe even Severus."

"The Malfoys are currently in Barcelona."

"Spain?!" Harry exclaimed. "Draco never told me they were going anywhere."

"I doubt he would have known. It was rather unexpected."

Harry scowled.

Father and son walked through the deep snow in silence for a while until Harry finally asked, "So where are we going?"

"_I_ am going to go and do some business with some of my followers. _You_ are going to be shopping."

"_Shopping_?" Harry repeated. "Shopping where?"

"Schwabing Alley."

Harry snorted. "Schwabing Alley? _Schwabing_?"

Tom shrugged. "It's German. I actually think it has a nice ring to it. Schwabing." The black-haired man put his hand on his son's back and pushed him in the direction of an enormous stone building with two tall towers and a terracotta roof. Harry stared up at it.

"What's this?"

"It's the Frauenkirche. Translates as the 'Cathedral of Our Blessed Lady'."

"What's a Cathedral?"

"It's . . . a Bishop's Church."

"What's a Bishop?"

"Like a very high-ranking priest."

"Oh. But why do we have to go through a church? Didn't those 'holier-than-thou' idiots like . . . _burn_ our kind a few hundred years ago? What if they still do that?"

"They don't. Now, the entrance to Schwabing Alley is in here, so come on."

Voldemort pulled Harry up the stairs and through the wooden doors into the Cathedral.

Tom winced at Harry's loud gasp. Several of the churchgoers stopped their praying to look over their shoulders at him.

"This is a church, Harry," Tom hissed. "People are quiet in here."

"But it's so . . . beautiful," Harry whispered back. His wide eyes took in the giant stained glass windows, the rich wooden pews, the gilded ceiling, the sparkling chandeliers, and the large white columns in utter amazement.

"This is a place of worship, Harry, it's supposed to be _attractive_."

Harry glared at him. "Excuse me if I still get some thrill out of life."

Voldemort rolled his eyes and tugged Harry towards the back of the church.

"Where are we going now?"

"To confession."

"Confession?"

"Catholics confess their sins to a priest." Tom stopped before a wooden door. "And they do that in a confessional."

Understanding dawned on Harry's face. "Oh. But, why do that? What if the priest tells someone about something arrest-worthy you've done and--"

"It doesn't matter," he snapped, irritated. He grabbed Harry's upper arm with one hand and opened the confessional door with the other, pushing his son into the small space and quickly following him. He shut the door quietly behind them.

"This is bloody cramped," Harry complained from his spot pushed up against the screen. His feet were crumpled up underneath him where he was crouched down on the kneeler. Tom ignored him and slid his wand out of its holster.

"The main enterance," he explained while tapping it against the wall opposite the door in an odd pattern, "is through a pub. Like Diagon Alley. But we were closer to this one." Finally, the wall began to glow a dark purple color. The brick in the wall quivered and dissolved, followed quickly by the surrounding stones.

Voldemort re-holstered his wand and pulled Harry through the portal, which dissolved almost instantly as soon as they were on the other side.

Harry smoothed his jacket down and glared at his father. "We should've went the long way throug the pub."

"I'm running late, so we didn't have a choice. Unless, of course, you would prefer Salzburg Alley, where the Dark Wizards kill kittens for fun."

Harry grimaced. "I'll stay here then."

Tom smiled and ruffled his hair. "Good. I'll be back in a few hours."

Harry's eyes widened. "_Hours_?!!!"

There was no reply. Harry spun around. No one was there.

* * *

Harry meandered through the snow, his arms filled with packages. He'd been to almost every store in Schwabing Alley and had spent quite a bit of money along the way, on things ranging from chocolate to a brand new Nimbus 2000, which he'd been trying and failing to convince his father to buy him since May. And, as it turned out, a lot of things that were illegal in Britain weren't in Germany. Opportunity knocks, as Harry would say.

On top of that, he'd stuffed his face with German food. He found that sauerkraut was one of the most disgusting things he'd ever eaten next to mayonnaise. Marzipan was rather sweet but still very good. Pickert (potato pancakes) was fairly tasty, and the white sausages with wheat beer were odd but appetizing. The bread rolls were very filling and the pot-roasted pork was nice - if you kept the sauerkraut off of it.

And now, as his shopping spree reached its fifth hour, his energy was starting to diminish. He was cold and his feet were numb, and it was beginning to snow again. Not to mention that it was getting dark.

Harry huffed in annoyance and pulled his sunglasses off. They were charmed to translate whatever he read into his native language, but in the cold they tended to fog up a lot.

After the condensation was gone, Harry put them back on and glanced around the street, looking for an interesting shop. Finally a rather faded sign caught his attention.

_**Swartz Original Antiques and Relics**_

_Same Location Since 241 A.D._

Harry looked over the building. It was small and a bit dilapidated, but it looked warm. He quickly gathered up all his bags and rushed across the street to the shop.

* * *

The shop was dank, dark, and cramped. Odd objects crowded shelves which were pushed up against the nicked walls. A worn, intricately decorated carpet covered cherry hardwood floors. A glass cabinet doubled as a check-out counter.

The atmosphere of the place eerily reminded him of Ollivander's.

"Hello," a soft voice called in broken English.

Harry jumped in surprise. This didn't just remind him of Ollivander's - this practically _was_ Ollivander's.

"Can I help you?"

Harry spun around to come face to face with a short, stout woman. She had greying brown hair, a hunched back, and sallow skin.

"Er . . . No, not right now. I'm just looking."

The woman nodded silently and stepped back. Harry skimmed through some of the items on the shelves, but he couldn't really focus on anything since the old woman was _staring_ at him. A shiver ran down Harry's spine.

Turning around, he moseyed up to the counter and glanced at some of the jewelry that was locked within. Nothing really appealed to him, until he caught sight of something in the very back of the cabinet. All he could make out was a glint of gold and red, but he was drawn to it for some reason.

"Er . . . Excuse me Mrs. . . ."

"Miss. Swartz," she answered in her heavily accented English.

"Miss. Swartz," he repeated. "I'd like to see whatever is making that gold glint in the back."

The woman's gaze followed his finger to land on the glint of red and gold in the back.

"No, no," she said almost immediately, suddenly looking a bit distressed. "You--you, ah, don't want that. It's--"

"I _do_ want that," he insisted, keeping his finger pointed at it. Truth be told, he could already tell it was a bit clunky, but for some reason he just felt he _had_ to see it more closely.

"It is not--" she was blubbering, making jerky hand gestures.

"Show me it," Harry demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and pursing his lips. "I want to see it!"

The woman hesitated for a second before taking out her wand and tapping the case. A hole appeared in the top. It was just big enough for her to reach her hand. She pushed some of the other jewelry off of the glinting object until it was finally uncovered and she could pull it out of the case. He could finally see it fully for the first time. He stood entranced.

There was nothing truly beautiful about the object. It was a rather small pendant on a tarnished copper chain, clunky like he'd been expecting. The pendant itself was a dull gold. A large, blood red stone was encrusted in the middle, while smaller, identically colored gems formed a design radiating out from it.

Harry had to have it. He didn't know why, but he just wanted it. He'd bought things compulsively before, sometimes feeling a similar enthrallment--as a child feels towards toys before they grow bored with them--and this, he told himself, wasn't any different.

"How much?" he asked, pulling his sack of money out of his robe.

"I cannot sell it."

"Of course you can," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'll give you . . . one hundred galleons. Or whatever money's called over here."

"No," the old woman persisted, looking more and more agitated.

"Everything has a price."

"No!" she shouted. "I cannot, will not, sell it!"

"Why?"

"It once belonged to the Dark Lord Grindelwald and it is--"

"It did, did it?" he asked skeptically. "Three hundred."

"You do not want to have this in your possession. It will--"

"I know what I want. Come on, lady, it was on display. That means it's for sale, right?" He dumped the entire contents of the bag on the counter, the gold forming a sparkling pile. He wasn't sure how much was there, but he was fairly certain it was at least seven hundred.

The old woman still looked distressed, but waved a boney hand at him in capitulation. "Fine, fine. Take it. Your problem."

Harry took the pendant from her and quickly exited the store to find his father.

* * *

Author's Note: It's the second time I've edited this chapter, oh noes!

-Anna


	17. Who Is Nicolas Flamel?

"Nice owl, Harry," Hermione said in greeting as soon as she walked through the Hogwarts Express compartment door.

Harry glanced down at the cage by his feet. Inside was a beautiful snowy owl. Isis leisurely stuck a paw through the bars. "Yeah. Aunt Bellatrix gave her to me for Christmas."

"What's her name?"

"Hedwig. We were in Germany over break so I went with a native name."

"I hope _your_ trip to Germany went better than _my_ trip to Spain."

"You have to stop sneaking up on me like that, Draco," Harry chastised while spinning around to face the blond who had just silently entered the compartment. "Oh!" Harry exclaimed once he could fully see him. His eyebrows rose. "What happened to you?"

"Barcelona," Draco spat while gingerly itching his beet-red skin. "It was horrible. Father wasn't there half the time, I couldn't understand a thing anyone was saying, and I got bloody burnt to a crisp."

"How does one get a sunburn in December?"

"It's a bloody Mediterranean country! The sun was out and I fell asleep on the beach!!"

"With your pale complexion you really should use sunscreen," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"I didn't think to do it, mudblood," Draco spat back. Hermione huffed at him and sat down.

"Play nice, children," Harry snapped while rolling his eyes.

Draco threw himself down on the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. Hermione pursed her lips and took to staring out the window.

"So how was Germany, Harry?" she finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Great, actually. In the beginning I didn't really like it but it turned out to be fun. They don't have the whole civil war issue the British Wizarding World has, either. Much calmer."

"Probably because You-Know-Who wasn't born in Germany," said Hermione, glancing around nervously while she said the title.

Harry rolled his eyes again. What was it with people and Voldemort? Did they think the man waited in the shadows to jump out and kill them if he heard his name being spoken? "I'm going to the bathroom," he announced abruptly. "Make sure my animals don't kill each other."

* * *

"I know Dumbledore is hiding _something_ in the third-floor corridor."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

"I wouldn't know anything abou' that, Severus."

Harry took two big steps backward and crouched down beside a jarred compartment door, where the voices of what sounded like Uncle Severus and Professor Hagrid drifted out from within.

"Whatever that dog of yours is guarding needs to be moved. Quirrell is trying to steal it."

Harry's eyebrows rose to his hairline. Professor Quirrell was a stuttering idiot - he doubted the man was competent enough to steal anything, not to mention figure out a way to get past a vicious dog. The frightened little man would probably run off screaming before he even opened the door.

"Quirrell? That man couldn't steal anythin'!"

"I'm telling you, he can and is! Who do you think let the troll in on Halloween? Did anyone stay in the Great Hall to watch Quirrell after he fainted?"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong! I don't know how the troll got in, but I know that Quirrell wouldn't have purposely _let_ it in! You need to stop yer meddlin', Severus - it's dangerous. Now, you just forget abou' that dog, an' forget what it's guardin' - that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel!"

Harry's eyes widened. Someone named _Nicolas Flamel _was involved, then?

"Harry?"

Harry jumped in surprise and turned around, only to come face to face with Neville Longbottom.

"What are you doing here?" The Hufflepuff asked loudly.

"Shush!!" Harry whispered, frantically motioning for the boy to squat down beside him.

Neville scrunched up against the wall and whispered in his ear: "What are you doing?"

"I think I've found a clue in what that three-headed dog was guarding."

Neville yiped loudly at the mention of the vicious dog. Harry slapped a hand over the other boy's mouth, but it was too late. The voices went suddenly silent only to be replaced by footsteps.

Harry's eyes widened. He jumped up, pulling Neville to his feet as well. The door opened and two heads popped out.

"What's going on out here?"

Harry pushed Neville behind his back. "Neville and I were just going back to our compartment when he stubbed his toe. Didn't you, Neville?"

Neville nodded fervently.

Hagrid glared at Harry suspiciously but Severus spoke: "Get back to your compartment before I take points."

Harry smiled. "Thank you, sir." He spun around and pulled Neville along with him back to his compartment.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello everyone!! This chapter is kind of slow but things start speeding up very much in just a little while.**

**- snarryvader81 (aka Anna Elizabeth)**


	18. The Sorcerer's Stone

Harry threw the book down on the table. It banged loudly, attracting Madam Pince's attention. "Mr. Riddle! This is a library! Please refrain from making noise! And do _not_ abuse a book in such a manner!"

Harry plastered on a remorseful expression. "I'm sorry, Madam Pince. I wasn't thinking. My thoughts have been wandering lately. I'll never do it again."

"5 points from--"

"But," Harry slinked up to Pince and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I really shouldn't be telling on him like this . . ."

Madam Pince seemed rather suspicious. "But?"

"Well, Ronald Weasley was drinking his pumpkin juice while he was doing his homework, and as it just so happened, his pet rat - Scabbers, I think he's called - came up and knocked the juice over - all over one of your books."

Madam Pince gasped. "Weasley? Ronald Weasley? From Gryffindor?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why, thank you for alerting me, Mr. Riddle. I'll have to look into this." The stuffy librarian turned sharply on her heels and stalked away.

"That was a very evil thing to do, Harry," Hermione whispered from her place at the table. The reprimand didn't have much effect as she was too engrossed in her book to look up as she said it.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly and sat back down. "He had it coming."

Neville gulped and looked back to his work. Draco just smiled.

"Have you still not found anything on Nicolas Flamel, Harry?"

Harry leaned back in his chair and scowled. "No. I've looked everywhere. I even cross-referenced his name with Dumbledore's. Nothing. Nada. Not even a bloody mention in passing." Harry gritted his teeth and dug through his pocket, finally pulling out a chocolate frog.

"You aren't allowed to eat in here, Harry."

The boy glanced over at the reference desk. "She's not in here." He ripped the packaging open and the frog jumped out onto the desk. Harry quickly grabbed it and shoved it into his mouth.

"What card did you get?" Draco asked. "I need Circe. I have about twelve of Merlin, though."

Harry pulled the small card from the wrappings and held it up. "Dumbledore." Harry flipped the card over and scanned the small paragraph.

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945,--

Harry absently rubbed the pendant that hung around his neck.

--for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel--

The card slipped from Harry's suddenly limp grasp.

* * *

Hermione rushed towards Harry's table with a giant, old book in her hands.

"I never thought that I should look in here!!" she exclaimed. "I got this out of the library a while ago for a bit of light reading--"

Neville swallowed. "Light reading?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and began frantically flipping through the worn pages of the book. After going through about half the book, the over-excited Ravenclaw threw her head up happily to look over at Harry. "Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the _Sorcerer's Stone_."

Harry gasped. Neville and Draco looked mystified. Hermione and Harry paid no attention to them.

"The _Sorcerer's Stone_?!" Harry exclaimed. "_The_ Sorcerer's Stone?!"

"_Yes_!!" Hermione shouted back.

A sharp reprimand from Madam Pince interrupted their excitement.

"What in the bloody hell is the Sorcerer's Stone?" Draco whispered.

"I read about it in some of my father's books," Harry panted out. "It produces an elixir which makes whoever drinks it _immortal_!!"

Hermione nodded frantically in agreement.

"Okay," Draco said slowly. "And . . . what does this have to do with Nicolas Flamel again?"

Hermione growled in frustration and shoved the book in front of him and Neville.

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal._

_There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight)._

"The dog must be guarding the stone. Someone must be after it!" Harry paused and let out a frustrated sigh. "The only question is - Who?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **The next chapter should be up very soon. Summer - while much better than school - is boring. I seem to be spending more of my time reading slash than actually writing. I'm also trying to watch all three Lord of the Rings movies, which has proved to take _forever_ (they're all soooo long). I've had a pretty bad case of writer's block, too.

I greatly appreciated all of your reviews!!

-Snarryvader81 (aka Anna Elizabeth S.)


	19. The Verbal Battery of R Weasley

"Mister Weasley!!"

Ronald Weasley's eyes widened and he turned around, only to come face to face with Madam Pince. Why would _she_ be looking for _him_? She couldn't _know_ about that book, could she? He'd even managed to find a spell that got all the pumpkin juice out of it! She couldn't know! "Y – yes, Madam Pince?"

"A few days ago, you checked out a copy of _The Beginner's Guide to Defense Against the Dark Arts_. Where is it?"

"Er – in – in my – my pack, Madam--"

"Show it to me, Mr. Weasley." She hissed his name out suspiciously.

Shakily, he fiddled through his pack until he came upon the book the librarian was demanding to see. He gingerly held it out in front of him as if it were a piece of fragile glass. Pince snatched it from his hands and began to carefully scrutinize every inch of it. Her eyes narrowed. She gazed up at him. "Mr. Weasley – would you care to tell me if anything . . . _destructive_ happened to this book whilst it was in your possession?"

Ron swallowed hard. "N- nothing happened to it, Madam Pince. It's exactly like it was when I checked it out."

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for lying to your teacher!" Pince snapped. "Now tell the truth! Whatever happened to Gryffindor honesty?!"

"Well – well – Scabbers – my pet rat – he knocked over some pumpkin juice on it," Ron managed to stutter out.

"And _why_ were you drinking pumpkin juice while a book was out?!"

Ron tried to make himself seem as small as possible. "I – I was thirsty--"

"_Thirsty_?! _Thirsty_!?! Mr. Weasley! If you were thirsty, you should have put the book away! Every year, _every single year_, I tell the students the _proper protocol _for handling books! But do they listen? No! Ripped pages, dog ears, stains, tears, scribblings – my books are practically ruined by the end of each year!! And all because ignorant students like yourself – and boys_ -it's almost always the boys_ – don't listen to a word I say!! I'm lucky someone was thoughtful enough to even report this little – little _incident_ to me!!"

"Who?" Ron demanded.

"His name is none of _your_ concern! But," she chortled slightly, "Let's just say he is a much better student than you! He actually has some respect for books! Now, twenty five points from Gryffindor!"

"But Madam--"

"And four detentions with Professor Snape!"

Ron's eyes widened. "_Four detentions? _With _Professor Snape_?! But – but--"

"Since you seem so proficient in the art of carelessly creating messes, we'll see how you do _cleaning_ up other people's spilt potions ingredients!!"

She exhaled sharply and spun around to make her exit.

"But – but Madam Pince! I – I still need that book . . ."

"You should have thought of _that_ before you went spilling pumpkin juice on it!" The librarian stomped off around the corner.

Ron stared after her for a few seconds, finally growling out, "_Riddle_ . . ."

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is a chapter just meant to be funny. It has no real importance in the story - _(but I just love it, don't you?)_. I would like to thank Chiyoku Shibata for giving me the idea for this chapter. 

I based Madam Pince (and her rant) closely on a few of my real-life school librarians. My parents are both librarians, too.

Thank you all for your kind reviews!

-Snarryvader81 (also known as Anna)


	20. Orpheus and His Lyre

Harry landed on the hard wooden floor with a muffled thump. "I hate that ladder," he ground out.

The Easter Holidays had arrived, it being Good Friday. Harry had originally been planning to stay at Hogwarts, but after realizing Weasley and Finnigan and Thomas would all be there, and that Hermione and Draco and Neville all wouldn't, he'd decided that going home might be best. He'd already finished his enormous amount of homework and had moved on to looking into ways of getting past three-headed dogs, something he would've preferred to do at Hogwarts, what with the library being much bigger.

Harry slowly pulled himself up off the floor and glared at the ladder. The bookshelves in the Riddle Manor library were as tall as the room's ceiling, and the ladder that you had to climb to get to the books on the top shelves was charmed to move automatically - and sometimes unexpectedly. Harry had gotten thrown off more times than he would like to count, and he wondered once again who had decided that having a hostile ladder would be conducive to retrieving books.

With a final angry noise issuing from his throat, he moved to a chair in the middle of the room and roughly slammed the book down on the low table in front of it. "Three headed dogs," Harry muttered while flipping through the thick book, only to sneeze at the dust that fluttered from the long-untouched pages.

"Harry!"

Harry snapped the book shut and looked to the doorway, where his father was leaning against the threshold, an annoyed scowl on his face.

"Yes, Dad?" he asked innocently.

"That snake of yours is fighting with Nagini," Tom snapped.

"Montague?" Harry wrinkled his nose and shrugged. "Nagini will kick his nonexistent ass."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Just thought I'd let you know so you won't be wondering what happened if you find your snake dead in the morning."

"Montague has a rather large ego. He likes to pick fights. Nagini knows not to hurt him." He paused and added, "Too badly."

Tom raised an eyebrow at him. After standing there watching him for several seconds, he turned on his heels and was about to leave, but Harry's voice stopped him. "Dad, what's a three headed dog called?"

"A Cerberus," he replied. He slowly turned around. "Why do you need to know about that?"

"Care of Magical Creatures class," Harry replied without missing a beat. "That great oaf, Hagrid, is obsessed with huge monsters. He's going to get us all killed one of these days. But I have to write an essay. The hypocrite--I bet he doesn't even know how to spell his own name! Write an essay! Ha!"

Tom looked only vaguely convinced, but after staring at him suspiciously for a few seconds he turned on his heel and stalked away.

As soon as his footsteps faded, Harry started flipping through pages at a frantic pace. "Cerberus, Cerberus," he muttered, only to stop upon finding a page that was completely covered by an intricate drawing of a three headed dog. "Found it!"

**The Cerberus**

_The Cerberus is a giant, three headed dog--_

Harry nodded to himself impatiently. He'd already known _that, _it was fairly obvious from the _drawing_. He looked to the next paragraph.

--_A fully grown Cerberus weighs almost 3,000 pounds and can be almost 10 feet tall. They require an enormous amount of care--_

Harry shook his head. He didn't give a damn about how to _care_ for one, that was Hagrid's job. He skimmed further down the page.

_--A Cerberus is almost impossible to defeat by means of brute strength. It would take an amazing amount of poison to kill them, so they are relatively immune from being poisoned--_

Harry sighed. It looked as if he wouldn't be getting past the bloody dog anytime soon. He was about to shut the book, but two small paragraphs at the bottom of the page caught his eye.

_--In ancient Grecian-muggle myth, the Cerberus was the guardian of the gates of Hades (Hell). A man named Orpheus, the son of a nymph and a king, managed to lull the Cerberus to sleep by playing music for it on his lyre. _

_While that story is purely fiction, it is true that a weakness of the Cerberus is music. It tends to make them fall into a deep, deep sleep that can only be broken when the music stops._

Harry dropped the book in shock and promptly did an embarrassing victory dance around the library.

"What the--what are you doing?"

Harry stopped abruptly mid-twirl and cleared his throat. "Nothing, Dad."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Not much to say about this chapter. It's really short . . . But if I'm not mistaken the next chapters will be longer.

We had to do a whole long unit on mythology at the beginning of eighth grade, so that's where I got the whole Orpheus and the lyre thing - OMG, I have finally put something I learned in school to use in the _real world._ Amazing.

Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!

- Anna


	21. The Bad Karma Of Harry Riddle

"Dittany, Dittany," Harry muttered, flipping through _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. His finger suddenly slipped from the page and he lost his place.

"Screw it," he hissed. "Does anyone know what a bloody Dittany is?"

Draco shook his head absentmindedly, engrossed in his own book. Neville and Hermione started explaining at the same time.

"It can refer to two plants with similar magical properties--"

"A Dittany is a plant that has both medicinal and magical uses--"

Harry waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I'll just look it up again," he huffed, flipping through the book.

"Did Madam Pomfrey heal that burn, Neville?" Hermione asked, concerned. "It looked pretty bad when Professor Snape made everyone evacuate the classroom."

Neville nodded miserably, rubbing his arm.

Harry looked up from his book. "Don't feel bad about it, Neville. Professor Snape made the Slytherins and the Gryffindors evacuate, too."

"Did you blow your cauldron up, too?" Neville asked hopefully.

"No. My potion turned out perfectly. Professor Snape gave me fifty points for it, in fact. But the person sitting behind me blew up their cauldron. And Pansy's. And Blaise's. I almost got burnt when that idiot Gryffindor, Finnigan, blew his cauldron up and sent all the potion flying across the room. I had to duck."

"And I got burnt because of it," Draco huffed. "I thought my face would be scarred for life!"

"Even if it was, Uncle Lucius would just take you to some expensive healer who would make it look like nothing happened."

"I can never make any potions right," Neville moaned. "I'm surprised Professor Snape doesn't insult me all the time."

Harry wasn't surprised. He'd asked Severus earlier in the year to be nice to Neville. The poor boy was horrible at potions, but he was a nice person. He didn't deserve to be yelled at.

"But this potion today was really difficult, Neville," Hermione said soothingly.

"All you had to do was add your own hair at the end," said Draco. "I don't see what was so bloody difficult about that."

"It _was_ difficult!" Hermione protested. "You had to add your own hair, then stir it counterclockwise six times, then add the unicorn hairs, then stir it clockwise three times and counterclockwise two times, then--"

"Hey," Harry said, interrupting Hermione's rant, "What is _he_ doing in the library?"

Harry's three friends furtively glanced in the direction the boy was looking.

"Hagrid?" Hermione mouthed.

"He's hiding something behind his back," Harry whispered. He hesitated. "Do you think I should talk to him?"

"What?" Hermione demanded, furrowing her brow. "He hates you."

"Why would _he_ be in the library? It might have something to do with Nicolas Flamel." Before they could protest anymore, he stood up and casually strode over to stand by Hagrid, acting as if he was perusing the shelves for books. He took a rather large step sideways, lightly bumping into the huge man.

Harry looked up, plastering a stunned look on his face. "Oh! Professor Hagrid! I'm sorry! I didn't notice you there! I must be too engrossed with studying for my own good! Exams aren't that far away, you know! What are you doing here, if I may ask?"

"Just lookin'," Hagrid replied in a shifty voice that caught Harry's interest at once.

"Really? What are you looking for?"

"It's none of yeh business, Riddle."

Harry pursed his lips. "I suppose it's not, then. I was just looking for - this." Without looking, he pulled a random book off the shelf.

"_Teen Pregnancy and Parenthood_," Hagrid read off the cover.

Harry glanced down at the book. He had to fight down a blush. "Oh . . . I have to do an essay for - detention. With Professor Snape. I'll see you tomorrow in class, Professor. Nice talking to you."

Harry spun on his heels and sat back down at his table. Hagrid stomped past him several minutes later.

"Is he gone?" Harry mouthed. Hermione nodded.

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing. Just made it clear that _his_ business wasn't _my_ business. I didn't find out what was behind his back, either. . . . I wonder what section he was in?" Harry jumped up from his seat and hurried to the section Hagrid had been in. He returned a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

"_Dragons_," he hissed. "That great oaf was looking up stuff on dragons! Look at these: _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."_

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon," Neville said. "He mentioned it the first day we had class with him."

"But it's against our laws," Harry said, smiling evilly. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to keep muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden. You can't even tame dragons, they're dangerous. Romania's just infested with them. You should see the burn I got from one when Dad made me go to Transylvania with him--"

"But are there dragons in Britain?"

"A couple types, I think. I read a book in my father's library on them once. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget. Bloody Muggles," he muttered.

"But then what's Hagrid up to?"

"Something illegal, I'd say."

"Harry . . ."

"Oh, calm down. I'm not suggesting spying on the man. Now come on - I still need to find out what a Dittany is."

* * *

"Not suggesting spying on the man," Draco mumbled, shivering slightly as the cold night air nipped at his skin.

"The curtains are all closed. We can't look in."

Harry scowled at Hagrid's small hut. "There has to be some way to see in."

Neville just whimpered, looking around fearfully. "The - the Forbidden Forest is really close to here . . . What if one of the creatures comes out and gets us?"

"They won't leave the Forest," Harry said, waving the comment off.

"A- aren't you afraid of t- them?" Neville demanded.

"Not particularly," he replied while stealthily surveying the hut's windows.

"W- why? They could eat us, or maim us, or rip us to pieces, or - or - or--"

"The first time I saw a vampire, I was three years old. It's one of my earliest memories. But he didn't really pose a danger, because my father would've set him on fire if he tried anything. He's a little Dark Arts happy, if you haven't realized."

"I have," said Hermione.

Harry continued. "And my father introduced me to one of his werewolf friends for the first time when I was seven. Rude and mangy, but otherwise pretty normal. I saw a lethifold when I was eight, which was, actually, really disturbing. A bogart somehow got into the manor when I was ten, or maybe it'd been there all along--the place is a bit, well . . . But, ah, no, I'm not really too concerned about dark creatures. There's always some way to repel them. In fact, I tend to worry more about humans."

"Does your father not even care about your safety?" Neville asked, his eyes wide.

"My father cares about my safety. He just doesn't _shelter_ me. Now, shush - I need to focus."

Harry slowly stalked around the hut, scrutinizing every inch of the wood.

"What are you looking for?" Draco demanded impatiently.

Harry absentmindedly waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, not replying.

After several more minutes of this strange behavior (and after they'd circled the hut several times), he finally stopped short and smiled. "I completely forgot."

"Forgot what?"

Harry replied by reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his foe glass. "Thank you, Father."

"Oh, yeah," said Neville. "I guess it's because Weasley's hair grew back."

Draco snorted. "We should make it fall out again. He looked better bald."

Hermione glared, while Harry hissed, "Shut up!" and stared intently down at the little mirror, focusing his thoughts on Hagrid. Slowly things came into focus.

The cabin was small - one room - and simply furnished. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was situated above a roaring fire, and a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it stood in the corner. Harry thought he could see a small sitting area a few feet from the fire, but the mirror only gave him a limited view.

Harry squinted and narrowed his eyes, glancing back over at the fire. He thought he could make out something underneath the kettle . . .

"A dragon egg!" he hissed. "He's got a dragon egg in there!"

"A _dragon egg_?" Draco scoffed. "The likes of him couldn't have a dragon egg! It would've cost a small fortune!"

"It's right there," Harry insisted, gesturing at the mirror. "Underneath the kettle!"

Draco pulled on Harry's shoulders. "Let me see!!"

"Keep it down!" Hermione whispered harshly. She and Neville were standing a few feet behind the two Slytherins, looking around nervously. "Do you want him to hear us? We're already out after curfew!"

"He's not gonna hear us," Draco insisted, grabbing the mirror and holding to up closely to his eyes. "I see it!" he announced after a few seconds. He pulled his head back and smiled evilly. "He is _so_ fired."

"_Neville_! **No**!"

Upon hearing Hermione's frantic words, Harry and Draco barely had time to turn around before they saw Neville's eyes close, his hands fly to his face, and his head lurch forward.

"ACHOOO!"

Harry winced at the sound. "Run," he squeaked, grabbing the mirror and shoving it in his pocket.

The four friends took off towards the castle. Harry glanced over his shoulder and felt his heart miss a beat at what he saw.

The door to Hagrid's hut was opening.

Thinking quickly, Harry grabbed Neville and Hermione and flung both them and himself into the bushes.

Draco paused in his running and turned around, only to find no one behind him.

Harry snaked out an arm and roughly pulled the other boy into the bushes with him, just before Hagrid stepped out of his hut.

The half giant looked around for a few minutes, but finally, muttering something under his breath that Harry couldn't make out, went back inside his hut.

The Dark Lord's son breathed a sigh of relief and fell back into a sitting position.

"I wonder how long it'll take until Hagrid is fired once we report this?" Draco breathed, smirking.

"We can't report this," said Harry.

Draco's smirk turned into a frown. "What?"

"We can't report this. It'll prove we've been spying on Hagrid. It could get us in trouble!"

"But it could get Hagrid fired!" Draco protested. "A detention is worth it!"

"Dumbledore would never fire Hagrid."

"What? Why?"

"He's too useful to him. Hagrid does what's asked of him without question - he's easy to manipulate and he's blindly loyal to the Headmaster. It's hard to find a lackey of that . . . quality. He'd never fire him," Harry reasoned.

"But - but . . ."

"It's good blackmail," Harry said simply. "If I ever want to get Hagrid fired, I can take it to the Board of Governors later." He sighed and rubbed his arms. "I'm cold, I'm tired, and I have to get enough sleep so that I can study for exams. Let's get back to the dorm."

Harry managed to pull himself up from the wet, squishy ground, as did Draco. He reached down and pulled Hermione and Neville to their feet.

The walk back to the castle was enveloped in an awkward silence, the only noise being the squelching of their feet on the wet ground.

The entrance hall, once they arrived, was dark and motionless, eerily so. The creepy atmosphere almost made Harry want to shiver.

When they got past the entrance hall, Hermione broke the silence. "Guess we better split up and go back to our own dorms . . ."

Harry nodded in agreement and was about to answer, but a lamp flared to life, startling him. "Hide!"

They all scrambled into the shadows, watching breathlessly as the silhouette of two people came into view.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Ronald Weasley by the ear.

"Disgraceful!" she exclaimed. "Wandering around in the middle of the night! I should take points--"

"You don't understand, Professor - Harry Riddle and all of his friends were outside the castle!"

She paused. "Riddle and his little gang were what?"

"They were outside the castle! I saw them coming back in!"

"Really?" she breathed, glancing suspiciously around the room. "Did you see where they went?"

Weasley shook his head. Harry held his breath, hoping she wouldn't turn around.

"Well - they must be around here somewhere!" She started to scan the room. "Which friends were with him?"

"Malfoy and that - that Ravenclaw - Granger. Hermione Granger. And I think there was also that Hufflepuff boy, Neville Longbottom."

"Longbottom? I wouldn't think he would be one to be friends with the likes of Riddle . . ."

Harry, meanwhile, was trying very stealthily to sneak out of the room, along with his three friends. They'd managed to stay hidden in the shadows, pressed flat against the wall, and they'd actually made it several feet down the hall. They all finally managed to quietly get around a turn in the corridor, which made them safe from McGonagall's prying eyes.

"Come on - we'd better get back to our dorms before she comes looking this way," Draco hissed.

The four children scuttled down the corridor and all made a sharp right turn - plowing right into Argus Flich.

Harry cursed under his breath. They'd gotten away from McGonagall just to run into Flich! Was he just having a bad night? Did fate have it in for him? Did he attract bad karma because of all the evil his father had done?

"Well, well, well," the caretaker whispered. "We _are_ in trouble."

* * *

**Author's Note: **More editing! I decided to give the foe glass from earlier a better use!

Anna


	22. Backstory of a Professor's Dog

Things couldn't have been worse.

Filch took them down to McGonagall's study on the first floor, where they sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Hermione was trembling. Neville looked like he was about to burst into tears. Even Draco appeared to be agitated and nervous. Excuses, alibis, and wild cover up stories chased each other around in Harry's brain, all more feeble than the previous one. They were caught and there was no way he could explain any of it. McGonagall was obviously going to ask why they had been outside, but Harry couldn't very well say that they'd been spying on a professor, could he, even if he told her about the dragon? He wondered how his father had managed during school - the man was the image of the perfect student, yet if what Bellatrix said was true, he even _murdered_ someone while he was attending Hogwarts, yet he never got caught.

But, of course, Tom Marvolo Riddle was a genius - Harry definitely didn't think of himself as a genius.

Harry straightened up in his chair as the door creaked open and Professor McGonagall entered, followed by Ronald Weasley.

Harry glared at the redhead. The Gryffindor just smiled patronizingly.

McGonagall sat down in the chair behind her desk. Harry spoke before she could, though.

"Where's my head of house? In fact, where are their heads of houses?" He gestured to Hermione and Neville.

"I do not recall any rule which states that the only teachers that can discipline students are their heads of houses, Mr. Riddle," she replied, her voice barely civil. "I refuse to call Professor Snape, as all he will give you is a slap on the wrist!"

"You have every right to discipline us, Professor, during class. But our heads of houses should be alerted if their students are misbehaving. I believe it is clearly stated in the Hogwarts rules. After all, how can we expect you to be fair if our heads of houses aren't supervising? You are the Head of Gryffindor - Draco and I are Slytherin, Hermione is a Ravenclaw, and Neville is a Hufflepuff. I believe it's my right to have Professor Snape here if I so wish."

McGonagall looked like she was barely restraining herself from taking out her wand and hexing Harry's mouth off, but she managed to stiffly grab some floo powder and throw it in the fire.

Several minutes later, Professors Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout crowded into the office, standing around McGonagall's desk.

"Whatever is going on?" Flitwick asked, still in his long dressing gown and night cap.

"Mister Riddle, Mister Malfoy, Mister Longbottom, and Miss Granger were all outside the castle _after curfew_!"

The three Professors all spun around to stare at them.

"I'm disgusted," McGonagall continued. "Four students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before!"

"Miss. Granger!" Flitwick exclaimed. "I thought you would've had better sense than this! Twenty - no - _fifty points from Ravenclaw and a detention_!!"

Hermione's lip trembled and she hung her head in shame.

"I - I - Mister Longbottom!" Sprout stuttered. She pulled her nightgown tighter around herself. "I am shocked and appalled! Fifty points and a detention as well!"

Neville sniffled, his shoulders shaking.

"Well - I'm shocked that you both were stupid enough to go outside at night," Severus began. He was the only professor fully dressed. "Especially these days, it's very dangerous--"

"I believe that Mr. Riddle is the ringleader!" McGonagall cut in, interrupting Snape.

"--Fifty points from both of you. Detention, as well."

"But - but Professor--"

"You can't--"

"I can and I am. Are you suggesting I should treat you differently than Miss. Granger or Mr. Longbottom, when you all broke the same rule?"

Harry hung his head. "No, Professor Snape."

Harry saw Weasley smirk out of the corner of his eye.

"But what about Weasley, Professor?" he asked suddenly, tilting his head in the direction of the redheaded Gryffindor.

"What?"

"Weasley, Professor. I heard him talking to Professor McGonagall earlier about how he saw us leave the castle. And since he's here right now, he's obviously breaking curfew. Why isn't _he_ being disciplined?"

Snape looked at McGonagall with a questioning expression on his face. Weasley's eyes had grown big and his face was flushed with anger.

McGonagall hesitated, but eventually said, "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention, Mister Weasley."

Harry smiled maliciously at the redheaded Gryffindor.

"Will the heads of houses escort their students back to the dormitories, just to make sure they don't go wondering through the halls anymore tonight?"

The four friends all stood up and followed their Professors out of the office and through the halls. Hermione and Neville were both immediately escorted back to the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Dormitories by Flitwick and Sprout.

Instead of taking Harry and Draco back to the dorm, Severus led them into his office and motioned for them to sit down in front of his desk.

"You're not planning on taking anymore points, are you?" Harry asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Of course not," Severus answered, sitting down in the chair behind his desk. "I was loathe to take the hundred points I did. No, I'm not going to punish you anymore. I just want to know what happened."

The door leading into Severus' private rooms opened slightly, drawing Harry's attention. A flash of black and tan fur bolted over to him and began licking his face.

"S - Sabine - down! Yes - yes - I like you, too - no! Down--"

Harry forcibly pushed the huge dog off of him. Still wagging her tail, Sabine reluctantly went to lie by Severus' feet.

"She's not too well trained, is she?" Draco drawled. He'd never cared much for animals in general.

"I tried to train her when I first got her," Severus said, sighing. "It didn't take. She's barely housebroken."

"She can attack on command, though," Harry announced. "Especially people she doesn't like."

"Muggles. And she doesn't care much for Dumbledore, either."

Harry snickered. "When did you get her, Severus?" he asked, genuinely curious. He'd first met Severus when he was three, and he never remembered him without Sabine.

"Around the time you were born. I didn't want a dog or any animal for that matter, but I was in Knockturn Alley, buying some ingredients--"

"Illegal ones?" Harry asked, smiling mischievously.

Severus continued as if he hadn't heard him. "--and I happened to run into Rudolphus Lestrange. I stopped to talk to him and put my shopping bags down for a few minutes. When I got home, I noticed one of them was moving and whimpering. I looked down in the bag and there she was. She was so tiny and thin - I could easily fit her in the palm of my hand."

"Did you feed her Miracle-Gro, Sev?" Harry asked, eyeing the now-gigantic dog.

"No, just regular dog food. She is big, isn't she? I didn't want to keep her at first, though. In fact, I was planning on taking her to the pound, but I couldn't bring myself to do it."

"Isn't she getting old, now? I mean, I'm _twelve_ . . ."

"I magically bound her to me as my familiar, so she won't die until I do."

"That happens when you do that?" said Harry, surprised.

Severus nodded. "It's a complicated spell . . ." He shook his head. "Now back to business. What happened tonight?"

Harry and Draco glanced at each other, both of them wearing identical scowls.

Harry spoke first:

"We were in the library, and I noticed that that great giant oaf, Hagrid, was there as well - the man sticks out like a sore thumb in a place such as a library! I'm surprised he even knows _how_ to read, let alone--"

Draco cleared his throat.

"But I digress. His behavior was very suspicious, to say the least. I tried talking to him, you know, so that he might tell me what he was up to, but it didn't work." Harry paused. "And by the way, if he asks, I'm writing an essay for you on teen pregnancy and parenting for a detention."

Severus blinked.

"After he left, I went back to the section he was in and, low and behold, the entire bookshelf was devoted to _dragons_."

"_Dragons_?" Severus repeated, incredulous. "You aren't implying . . ."

"We obviously came to the conclusion that something strange was going on, so we decided to--"

"_You_ decided to," Draco cut in.

Harry ignored him. "--go out tonight and see if we could find out what was going on."

"And did you?"

"When we got to his hut, all the curtains were shut, but I just used the foe glass father gave me." He pulled it out of his pocket and held it up. "And guess what--he has a bloody _dragon egg_!!!"

"A dragon egg?! But how would Hagrid, of all people, get a hold of a dragon egg?!"

"I don't know! I find that odd, too, now that I have the chance to think about it."

"This could get him fired, couldn't it, Uncle Severus?" Draco asked eagerly. "Harry said we shouldn't tell anyone right now, but--"

"He's right. It would probably do more harm than good. Keeping a dragon is illegal, but Dumbledore would never fire Hagrid. All it would do is make the headmaster watch you closer, as it proves that you are spying on people. Of course, I'm sure the Board of Governors would be terribly interested in this . . ."

Harry nodded. "That's what I said."

Severus' face took on a pensive expression. "Why was Weasley out of bed, then?" he asked after a time.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't ask me! I have no idea! The little rodent probably was just trying to get me in trouble."

"Hmm." Severus was silent for a minute, finally saying, "It's been a long night. Go back to the dorm." He waved them away.

The two boys were practically out the door when Severus stopped them with his voice, "Oh, and Draco? Harry?"

"Yes, Severus?" they chorused.

"Twenty-five points each for reporting illegal activity to your head of house."

Harry and Draco both grinned all the way back to their room.

* * *

**Author's Note: **My laptop is broken! I barely managed to email this chapter to myself on a different computer so that I could post it. That's the second time its broke since I got it! Stupid thing!

My little fact about familiars living as long as the witch or wizard they're a familiar to was completely made up, but I just couldn't stand the thought of a dog actually dying, so I included that (I have a weak spot for dogs).

Anyway, the next chapter is their detention in the Forbidden Forest. Someone will be sucking unicorn blood, but it's not Voldemort (as he isn't in need of a body in this story).

-Anna

PS: Oh, and I've been spelling Filch's name wrong in all the previous chapters. I was writing "Flich" not "Filch". I just noticed it.


	23. Mechanisms of a Megalomaniac

_My Lord,_

_All is relatively well with Harry. He is, I am sorry to report, still fraternizing with the mudblood Ravenclaw girl, Hermione Granger. The girl is, however, very intelligent and shows immense potential for a mudblood– I believe Harry is not making a mistake in befriending her. She could prove to be a good asset in the future. She seems to be completely taken with him, and I am sure she is not working for Dumbledore in any way._

_On the other hand, Harry has taken to gallivanting around with an idiot Hufflepuff by the name of Neville Longbottom. _

_Longbottom, if I recall correctly, is the son of two Aurors, Frank and Alice Longbottom, who caused much trouble for the Death Eaters during the first war. The boy himself poses no threat whatsoever, as he is not even competent enough to make a potion without mucking it up. I do not have the slightest idea why Harry would become friends with a fool such as him, but, as with the mudblood, I am sure that Longbottom is not in any way acting as a spy for Dumbledore._

_Harry, as well as the young Malfoy heir, Draco, Granger, and Longbottom all got into a rather large amount of trouble just yesterday night, when they snuck out of the castle after curfew to spy on Rubeus Hagrid. They had reason to believe he was attempting to keep a dragon and most evidence that I have been able to uncover since that time points to them being correct._

_Harry claims that he saw a dragon egg in Hagrid's hut. Owning a dragon is illegal and dangerous, but Harry has decided to tell no one about it at this time. He believes that it would cause more trouble than it is worth, as do I._

_There have been no new developments in what you asked me to be watching for. I still suspect Quirrell has something to do with it, but short of torturing him for information, there is nothing more I can do but wait._

_- S.T.S._

Lord Voldemort scowled at the letter, quickly burning it to ashes with a muttered spell.

Did his son have no sense? First a _mudblood_, now an _incompetent_ son of two _Aurors_?

It must be that dirty blood from his mother.

But – the boy did seem to be on to something with the dragon egg . . . Rubeus Hagrid had been a convenient person to blame for the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. He was overly fond of animals, and a half-giant. Giants were known for their brutality (as the world most definitely discovered during the First War). Not to mention that Hagrid had been keeping an acromantula as pet during that time. _Of course_ people would believe _it_ was the Slytherin Monster. A basilisk wouldn't have seemed very plausible, would it?

In fact, there was no reason why Hagrid _couldn't_ have been the one to open the Chamber. In the eyes of the law, anyway.

But when he had pointed the accusing finger at Hagrid, Tom had thought that the oaf would be carted off to Azkaban, never to be seen nor heard from again.

But that – that old coot, Dumbledore, did everything within his power to keep Hagrid from being imprisoned. He suspected that Tom was the heir of Slytherin, not Hagrid.

And, well . . . what could he say? The man had suspected correctly. Tom just hadn't thought he would. He should've _known_ that the man would be the one to figure out the truth. Dumbledore had already been mistrusting of him _before_ the Chamber had been opened, and he just started watching him even more closely _after_.

Once Tom had left Hogwarts, though, he had practically forgotten about Rubeus Hagrid. That was, of course, until he realized he was the one who Dumbledore had entrusted with the task of going to Gringotts on August First.

The half giant had since become an annoying thorn in Tom's side. And this illegal dragon egg might be a way to remove him for a little while. . .

Tom knew that Dumbledore would never fire Hagrid, and he doubted that the Board of Governors would _force_ him to, but still . . .

"Tippy!" Tom shouted, clapping his hands together.

A crack resounded through the room, coinciding with the appearance of a richly dressed house elf.

"Yes, Master Riddle?"

"Go and fetch Lucius for me. I have a . . . _task_ . . . for him."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was roused from his work by a heavy knock on his office door. He looked up and furrowed his brow – he hadn't been expecting anyone.

"Enter!" he called uncertainly.

The door swung open in a very dramatic fashion, revealing a smirking Lucius Malfoy, looking as debonair as ever. Four Aurors stood on either side of him.

Lucius sashayed into the room, twirling his cane about in his right hand. He gracefully swooped down to sit in one of the large comfy chairs in front of the Headmaster's desk.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore began, rather caught off guard. Why on Earth would Lucius Malfoy, of all people, be at Hogwarts, knocking on his office door? Even if he wished to visit Draco, he would surely be in the Slytherin dorm, not the Headmaster's Office. "How nice to see you. Er – to what do I owe the pleasure?" He popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "All is well with Draco—"

"I'm not here to talk about Draco. I have been sent by the Board of Governors."

"The Governors? Whatever for?"

"We received an anonymous report that one of your professors, Rubeus Hagrid, I believe it was, is in possession of a _dragon egg_. That, as I'm sure you know, is illegal. I was sent to investigate these – _allegations._"

"A dragon egg?" Dumbledore repeated. "I was completely unaware that anything of the sort was on Hogwarts' grounds."

"But the Board of Governors has reason to believe that there is."

"Even if the report is true, it's only an _egg_—"

"Which will one day hatch. I'm sure that you, of all people, would know the danger that a dragon could pose to a school full of children."

"I'm very pleased that you informed me of this, Mr. Malfoy, but I believe that I can handle it from here. I will just tell Hagrid to get rid of it as soon as possible—"

"And I'm very sure that you would. But the Governors wish to make sure that the egg has been removed from Hogwarts grounds. They cannot be absolutely positive unless they are the ones to do it, can they? And there's also the little matter of the teacher who was fool enough to bring the egg onto school grounds in the first place. The Board demands that he be suspended until we decide whether or not to fire him."

"Fire him?!" Dumbledore exclaimed, standing up and slamming his hands down on the desk. This situation was rapidly spinning out of his control. "Now, listen here, Mr. Malfoy, I respect the Board of Governors, and I respect their decisions, but I refuse to fire Rubeus Hagrid!"

"Yes, yes, that will be decided later," said Lucius, casually waving the Headmaster's angry words off. "For now, though, we must remove the egg. Our source reported that it was being kept in Hagrid's . . . _shack_. It is, I assume, still in the same place it was when I was a student?"

Dumbledore nodded jerkily, his blue eyes hard and lacking a twinkle.

"Good, then," Lucius said, smoothly standing up and motioning to the Aurors to follow him. "Will you be accompanying us, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore swallowed the last remnants of his lemon drop. "Of course," he replied, his tone sharp and clipped.

Lucius made a sweeping gesture with one perfectly manicured hand. "Lead the way."

* * *

Harry looked at the jarvey in distaste. It appeared to be rather like an overgrown weasel or ferret. It was long and thin, with a white belly and an orange back and face. In fact, at first glance, it was a bit cute – in an unattractive way. And, unlike most of the animals in Care of Magical Creatures Class, it didn't seem to be able to inflict very much bodily damage on a human being (one of the many horrid things about Hagrid was that he didn't seem to understand what the words _dangerous man-eating beast _meant).

But there was one drawback to the thing

_It wouldn't bloody __**shut its mouth**_!!!

"Big, hairy oaf!" it spewed at Hagrid.

Normally, Harry would've found a comment like that very funny, especially since he thought exactly the same thing about the man.

But:

"Bushy haired, buck toothed girl!"

Hermione looked like she was about to burst into tears.

"Fat, dumb boy!" it spat at Goyle.

The idiot lackey didn't seem to understand that he was being insulted.

"Spoiled, blond brat!"

Draco looked about ready to practice the Killing Curse on the vile little thing.

"Scar-headed, shorty boy!"

Harry seethed. He was _not_ short. He was just _small boned_.

"Fool!" it snapped at Hagrid.

The giant man didn't seem to take very much offense at any of the insults aimed at him. He simply began his lecture:

"Can anyone tell me wha' this is?" he asked, gesturing to the rude little animal.

No one raised their hand. Not even Hermione, as she had long ago decided that she would _not_ answer any questions in Care of Magical Creatures Class. Why should she, when the teacher hated her because of who she was friends with?

Harry narrowed his eyes. He never participated in Care of Magical Creatures, either, but he wondered what would happen if he did. He very well knew what a jarvey was. What was keeping him from trying?

His hand slowly rose.

Hagrid didn't seem to notice it. "Anyone?"

Harry waved his hand a bit.

"One of yeh must know somethin'!"

Harry started to move his arm back and forth, making a few little grunting noises.

"Not one of yeh? Alright, then. This is a—"

"A jarvey, Professor Hagrid," said Harry loudly. "Is a vile little animal that likes to insult people. They mainly live underground and they hunt gnomes and rats and moles and things like that."

Hagrid slowly looked at Harry. "Yeh cannot just speak out loud whenever yeh please in this class, Riddle! Yeh have teh be called on!"

"But my hand was up. You didn't call on me. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say that you were _ignoring_ me." Harry's emerald eyes held a challenging glint in them.

Hagrid looked furious. "I just didn't see yeh, Riddle. That doesn't mean yeh can interrupt me. Thirty points from—"

"Dad!" Draco exclaimed, looking over Hagrid's shoulder with a happy, if bemused, expression. The rest of the class, including Harry, looked in the same direction, only to be met with the sight of Lucius Malfoy gliding gracefully over to them, followed by four Aurors. An angry looking Headmaster Dumbledore headed in Hagrid's direction.

"Uncle Lucius," said Harry. "What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?"

"The Board of Governors. Someone reported that your professor here has been keeping an illegal dragon egg in his . . . _home_."

Harry's eyes widened and he glanced nervously in the Headmaster's direction, as did Draco and Hermione.

Lucius stepped closer to him and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Don't worry. No one knows you had anything to do with it."

Harry smiled and breathed a small sigh of relief. Lucius smiled back before turning on his heels and sauntering over to Hagrid, a neutral expression on his face.

"Professor Hagrid, the Board of Governors has received a very reliable tip that you have been keeping a dragon egg in your sha – house."

Hagrid nervously glanced between Lucius and Dumbledore.

"As I'm sure you know, that is illegal—"

"Arrogant, bigheaded man!" the jarvey snapped.

_Whap_!!

The jarvey staggered sideways, looking rather caught off guard. Lucius lowered his cane, still talking.

"—very dangerous—"

"Horrid, evil man!"

"—and would pose a – _silencio _– serious threat to the children should it hatch." Lucius put his wand back in its holster and plastered on a fake smile, pulling out a piece of parchment. He held it out for Hagrid to take. The bigger man just stared at it stupidly for a few seconds until Dumbledore snatched it out of Lucius' hands and began to scan over it. "This is the document stating we have a right to search your property." Still smiling, he motioned over his shoulder for the Aurors to begin their search. The four of them split up and converged on the groundskeeper's hut.

"But – but – No! Yeh can't do that! Headmaster – Headmaster – they – they can't do that, can they?!"

"I'm sorry, Hagrid, but they can."

The Aurors emerged several seconds later, one of them carrying a huge black egg.

The entire class gasped and began whispering amongst themselves.

"But – but – yeh can't move it!" Hagrid protested. "He's—"

"It's hatching!" the Auror exclaimed, surprised and frightened. He immediately let go of the egg, dropping it on the soft ground.

Harry inched closer to it so that he could get a better look. There were deep cracks in it, and something appeared to be moving around inside. An odd clicking noise came from it.

Suddenly, there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped out onto the ground. Most of the class took several steps backward. Harry took a step forward.

The dragon wasn't exactly pretty – Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body; it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

Without warning, it sneezed. A few sparks flew out of its snout.

A magical camera seemed to materialize into Lucius' hands and he began snapping photos of the animal. "For evidence," he announced when people gave him odd looks. Harry leaned in as close to the dragon as he dared and made sure that his uncle got a good shot of him with it. "We'd better firecall the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"The Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau?" one of the Aurors asked.

"No, the Spirit Division," Harry snapped. "What do you think he meant?"

The Auror glanced at Lucius who just rolled his eyes and nodded sharply in return. The other man ran off to do his bidding.

"No! No – please don't let 'em take him from me so soon! Please – I – I'll get rid of 'im – just – just give me some time—"

"Norwegian Ridgebacks grow very quickly. He cannot stay here. Don't worry – we'll send him somewhere nice – Romania, maybe."

Harry nodded. "There's a ton of dragons in Romania."

"I think we should be getting the students back to the castle," said Dumbledore, eyeing the dragon carefully. Most of the class looked very relieved.

"Go on now," Dumbledore said, waving his hand impatiently. "Get back to your common rooms."

Draco quickly hugged his father before turning around and beginning the trek back to the castle, Hermione at his heels. Harry reluctantly followed them, but couldn't resist one last look over his shoulder.

Hagrid seemed to sense being stared at and glanced up, meeting his eyes.

Harry winked.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I originally thought that this chapter would be them in the Forbidden Forest, but Mr. Snuffles gave me the idea to show Hagrid getting in trouble. Bluprncss1 also suggested that I include more Voldemort, so I tried to give him a part in this chapter.

The next chapter - er, well - I'm thinking about making Harry's grandparents (Lily's parents) be alive and the next chapter might be about them.

Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing.

-Anna

EDIT: Changed Severus's middle intial--I used to think his middle name was "Salazar", or something, but I think it's actually "Tobias". So . . .


	24. Interlude in Little Hangleton

"We're lost."

"That bloody detour threw me off," said Giles Evans, scowling.

"Stop the car."

He hit his foot to the brake, causing the car to come to a screeching halt on the mostly-deserted country road.

Nadia Evans quickly opened the glove compartment and pulled out a map. After unfolding it and looking over it for several long minutes, she finally announced:

"I'm not sure. You might've taken a wrong turn a long while back . . ."

Giles moved to turn the car around, but his wife's voice stopped him.

"We can ask directions in the town ahead of us," she said, still looking at the map.

"What town?" he demanded, leaning over to look at the map as well.

"Little Hangleton," she said impatiently, pointing to a small dot on the map.

"Aren't we supposed to be in Howlett?" asked Petunia Dursley from the backseat.

"William just _had _to move last year, didn't he?" said Giles to no one in particular.

"Your brother can never stay in any one place for more than two years," Nadia muttered, still scrutinizing the map.

"But then why must his daughter suddenly decide she had to get married the same year they move?"

"Why do we have to attend?" demanded Vernon, sneering.

"Because we didn't go to his other daughter's wedding."

"We went to his son's wedding the year before that," he countered. "Bloody relatives," he hissed under his breath.

Nadia tapped on the windshield with one red fingernail. "Go on to the town. It's only a little ways up."

Giles' foot pressed down on the gas petal.

Nadia Rose Evans, age 57, was a pretty woman with brownish-red hair and blue eyes. She was a caring and loving mother and grandmother with an outgoing personality and a sweet disposition, who always seemed to be upbeat and happy. Of course, a lot of that happiness may have come from the antidepressants she had been on for the last decade.

You see, Nadia was the mother of two daughters, Petunia and Lily.

Petunia, the oldest, was a rather unattractive girl with an even less attractive personality. She embodied the word _ordinary_. She had ordinary brown hair, ordinary brown eyes, was an ordinary height, an ordinary weight, and she had lived an ordinary life.

Lily, the younger daughter, was decidedly the opposite of her sister, as she was completely within the realm of the _extra_ordinary. She had red hair, shocking green eyes, and an outgoing personality. But their looks and personalities weren't the only differences between the sisters.

Petunia was an ordinary Anglican.

Lily was a witch.

Lily even went to a special school that taught magic. She rode on a broomstick, wore a pointed hat, brewed potions, and carried a wand. She'd even had a black cat at one time.

Nadia couldn't have been more proud.

Lily had eventually married and had a son named Harry. But something horrible had happened.

Lily and her family were murdered by an evil, evil man known as Lord Voldemort.

Nadia had been torn apart once she received the news.

But, life had to go on. She had another daughter and another grandson. She had finally managed to put the worst of it behind her.

Not that she didn't ever think about Lily and Harry.

She did.

Frequently.

Like today.

"You're thinking about them again," Giles whispered, low enough that the Dursleys in the backseat couldn't hear him. Not that they were paying much attention, as Dudley had decided to throw a tantrum because they'd run out of candy bars.

Nadia swallowed. "Yes. I don't know why, but they just seem to be in the center of my mind today. I can't get the thoughts of them out of my head." She quickly glanced back out the car window at the rapidly passing scenery. They flew by a small sign that read: 'Welcome to Little Hangleton, Population: 662'. A mile or two up the road they passed by a dilapidated shack which looked abandoned, and finally they seemed to arrive in the center of the town. There were some small, neatly kept houses and a few stores and shops. The entire town had a bit of a quaint, sleepy feeling to it, almost as if it hadn't changed very much since the turn of the century.

"Duddikens!" Petunia shouted. "Look! There's a store right there!" She pointed out the window at a small gas station which had a convenience store attached. "We'll stop and get you some candy and grandpa will get some directions!"

Giles didn't even ask; he pulled the car up to one of the pumps and got out. Nadia and the Dursleys all headed for the small store.

The door had a bell on it which rang when they entered. A young girl with almost shockingly yellow-blonde hair sitting behind the counter briefly looked up from her book, but didn't speak to them.

While the Dursleys went about picking out candy bars, Nadia slowly approached the girl behind the counter. She looked to be about Dudley's age or younger. In addition to the odd hair (which was haphazardly pulled back in uneven pigtails), she had hazel eyes and skin which was tanned in some places but not others. Her button down the front shirt was baggy, as was her blue skirt. She had six fingers on her left hand and her feet were bare and dirty. _The Unexplained,_ the cover of the book she was so intently perusing read, _Investigations into the Paranormal: Ghosts, Demons, Aliens, and more!_

Nadia cleared her throat. The girl looked up, startled, and quickly put her book under the counter.

"Uh – yes? What do you want?"

Nadia glanced around. "Do you – work here?"

"Uh – my parents run it. I'm just – uh – here. What do you want?"

"I need directions to a town called Howlett." Nadia hoped the girl had heard of it. Five weeks previous, Rachael, Giles's niece, had, quite out of the blue, announced that she was getting married. After receiving their invitation, they had debated and debated whether or not to attend (as it was a rather long drive from Little Whinging to Howlett, and they didn't particularly like Rachael), but they had finally decided it would be a nice gesture to attend (that, and they were having trouble coming up with an excuse as to why they couldn't go).

After the complete disaster that had been the wedding of Ross Evans (William's youngest son), they'd managed to wriggle their way out of going to the wedding of William's other daughter, Rebecca (who they liked even less than Rachael) a few years previous.

But this time, they couldn't say they had the flu, or a doctor's appointment, or had to have an MRI which just couldn't wait. Not to mention that Dudley saw this as the perfect opportunity to get out of taking a Very Difficult Math Test which he knew he couldn't pass.

So, the Evans and the Dursleys had resigned themselves to going.

"Howlett?" the yellow haired girl repeated, her eyebrows scrunching together. "Er – I'm not sure, exactly – I've never heard of it – Jefferson!" she called.

A few seconds later, a tall, muscular boy with dark blond hair about the same age as the girl emerged from the back of the store.

"What is it, Sophie?" he asked impatiently.

"She wants to know how to get to a town called Howlett," the girl – Sophie – said, waving a hand in Nadia's direction.

The boy looked vaguely surprised. "Howlett? You really must be lost if you're here. Uh – you need to keep going straight down the road that you were on for about thirty miles until you come to Riddle Manor. You know you're going in the right direction if you see it. Then you just keep on traveling past it for a long, long time until you take a right turn on a road called Aylett Avenue – it's the only street out there – and stay on it for about fifty five miles. It'll take you out onto the highway. You'll be there for about a half hour until you come to exit 19. Take a left and the street it puts you on will take you right to Howlett."

"Riddle Manor?" asked Nadia, her voice sounding odd to her ears. She didn't know why, but she felt as if she had to ask about the place, almost as if she would be missing something important if she didn't.

"Huge old mansion that sits up on a hill. You can't miss it. There's an abandoned church and a cemetery out in front of it."

"It's haunted," Sophie cut in.

"There's no such thing as ghosts, Sophie," said Jefferson firmly.

"There are. Old Thomas and Mary Riddle and their son were murdered in that house. And don't forget all the weird stuff that happens there anyway. Owls going to and from morning, noon, and night, that strange energy that surrounds the place—"

"All that's just stories parents tell their children to get them to stay away from the place," Jefferson interrupted.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

By this time, Giles had come in to pay for the gas and the Dursleys had picked out Dudley's candy and were coming up to the counter.

Nadia took a few steps backwards. _Riddle Manor. Riddle Manor._ Why did she get an odd feeling when she thought about it?

"Ready to go, Nadia?"

Her eyes flitted up to Giles. "Yes – yes – I'm ready." With one last glance behind her at the yellow haired girl, she left the small store. The sudden change of temperature between the cool store and the hot air outside made her feel slightly ill, but she quickly strode over to the dusty black car and climbed in, the words _Riddle Manor_ floating through her head over and over again.

"Something the matter, Mum?" Petunia asked after a time. Dudley, had, thankfully, taken to munching on a candy bar and playing on his gameboy, giving his mother more time to be observant of her surroundings.

Nadia tore her eyes away from the window to look over her shoulder. She put on her most cheerful face. "Nothing's the matter. I'm just thinking about how fast Rachael has grown up. Why, it seemed like it was just yesterday when she was a little toddler playing with her blocks, and now she's about to get married."

"Never fond of the girl myself," Petunia muttered.

Nadia mumbled an agreement under her breath, and went back to staring out the window, waiting for Riddle Manor to come into sight.

After a seemingly interminable amount of time, during which the only sounds in the car were the annoying little beeps and bops and zaps that came from Dudley's gameboy, a looming mansion almost completely hidden by trees came into view.

"Wow – wish I was that rich," Giles murmured, looking in the direction of the gigantic house.

Nadia nodded absentmindedly, focusing on the house. From what she could make out around the trees, the place was absolutely magnificent, with sparkling windows and multiple chimneys. It sat on acres and acres of equally well kept land. Even the abandoned old church that was clearly visible from the road didn't appear to be in horrible condition.

Nadia felt attracted and repulsed at the same time.

There was some inexplicable allure to the place but yet – there was some – some kind of malice – a malevolence – that seemed to engulf the building and the surrounding area.

Nadia couldn't help but stare at the mansion until it faded completely from view.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Let me see - a while ago I wasn't planning on including Harry's grandparents this early on in the story, but I thought, why not? I don't think it's that bad a chapter, actually. If you hate it, then . . . just forget that I included it, as it was kind of detached from the other storyline right now and doesn't make a very big difference for a long time. 

Nadia and Giles are really far out names, I know. But I thought, with a daughter named _Petunia_ of all things, it could work. It's not like any of the Dursleys have extremely common names. I love the name Nadia and 'Giles' comes from one of my favorite TV shows, Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Anyway, I want to thank everyone who reviewed!!! I loved all your comments!!

-snarryvader81 (aka Anna)


	25. Dark Lords of the Past and Future

"Oh yes. Hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me," Filch ranted. "It's a pity they aren't still using the old punishments. You probably wouldn't be so quick to break the rules if you'd end up hanging by your thumbs from the ceiling for a day or two."

"Sounds like something my father does to people on his days off," Harry muttered under his breath.

Filch's shoulders stiffened. He didn't speak again until the silence was broken by a call of: "Is that you, Filch? Hurry up! I want ter get started!"

Harry scowled, as did Draco and Hermione. Ron looked relieved, but Filch snapped at him, "You think you'll be enjoying yourself with that great oaf? Think again - it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

Neville looked one more stressful emotion away from tears. Draco bit his lip. His silver eyes widened. "We can't go into the forest!" he shouted, his voice going up several octaves until he practically sounded like a girl. "It's--"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Draco," Harry snapped. Draco looked livid, but Harry just continued, "It's just the bloody forest."

"Of course you wouldn't be afraid of the creatures in the forest," Filch spat. "Your father probably has some kind of hold over all of them."

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't know about such things, Mr. Filch."

Hermione, Neville, and Weasley looked between Harry and Filch, puzzled expressions on their faces.

Their awkward staring contest was broken by Hagrid's arrival from the shadows. An enormous grey dog with hanging lips trailed behind him. As soon as it saw the children, though, it loped over to them. Neville grabbed onto Harry's sleeve and whimpered as the dog approached. Harry shook him off and reached down to run a hand over its smooth coat. "What's his name?" he asked.

"Fang," Hagrid said in a clipped tone.

Harry smiled down at Fang. "He's nicer than Sabine. Took me two years to get that mutt to warm up to me. This one does it in two minutes." Harry looked up and wrinkled his nose. "I like dogs. I should make my father get me a dog."

Hagrid made a barely audible growl. He opened his mouth to speak but Filch beat him to it. "I'll be back at dawn for what's left of them." Filch moved his eyes slightly in Harry's direction. "Now's not the time," he said while locking eyes with Hagrid. "Don't try anything. It'll just bring you more trouble."

Hagrid nodded jerkily and Filch walked away, leaving the children glancing amongst each other, their eyebrows raised. Harry snuck a suspicious glance at Hagrid. He had the feeling they were saying something about him.

"I thought you were _suspended,_" Harry finally said, snottily. "Remember? For keeping that bloody dragon which could've killed us all?"

Hagrid balled his hands into fists at his side. "I can't teach for a while, Riddle—"

"You mean until the Board of Governors decides they won't fire you. _If_ they decide not to."

Hagrid gritted his teeth. "But I'm still groundskeeper!!" he spat. "If Professor Dumbledore wants me to take yeh on a detention, I can bloody well do it!!"

"I'm not going into that forest," Draco cut in. "I'm bloody not."

"Yeh are if yeh want to stay at Hogwarts," Hagrid roared back.

"This isn't what a bloody detention is supposed to be," Draco snapped. "We should be copying lines or something, not risking our lives in the Forbidden Forest!! If my father knew about this--"

"Daddy isn't here, Draco," Harry interrupted. "Come on. You can't be afraid of a _forest_, can you? Do you see Neville begging not to go? No!"

Neville was currently hanging onto Harry's sleeve and whimpering like a maniac.

"So act like the Malfoy you are and go into the bloody forest!! Whining like a baby won't make Daddy proud, will it?"

Draco lowered his gaze muttering about hypocritical bastards.

"Right then," said Hagrid after a pause, "Listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're going to do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."

The children followed Hagrid into the edge of the forest. He stopped by a puddle of silver liquid. "See that stuff shinin' on the ground? It's--"

"Unicorn blood," Harry provided.

"Thank yeh, Riddle," Hagrid snapped. "Yeh cannot talk withou' permission!"

"Sorry, sir." He didn't sound sorry at all. Hagrid glared at him for a few seconds before speaking, "As Riddle so rudely pointed out, it is unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there that's been hurt badly by summat. Second time this week," he huffed. "I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. Might have ter put it out of its misery."

"What if the thing that's been killing unicorns finds us instead?" Harry asked. His voice didn't have any fear in it, just curiosity. "It takes something awfully evil to harm a unicorn."

"Bet _you_'d know something abou' that," Hagrid muttered before addressing the whole group. "Nothing 'ill hurt yeh if you're with me or fang."

"I call Fang," Harry announced. Hagrid glared at him but continued, "Right now, we're gonna split into two groups an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've been staggerin' around since last night at least."

"I still want Fang," Harry said again.

Hagrid scowled and said, "Fine, but he's a bloody coward."

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever. He looks mean. It should keep _some_ of the monsters away."

"Riddle an' Neville an' Ron 'ill go one way an' Hermione an' Draco 'ill go the other."

Harry glanced at the overgrown underbrush and silently thanked Merlin that he'd worn boots that were made for outdoor activities.

* * *

Harry, Neville, and Weasley walked in silence. Fang had glued himself to Harry's side, almost as Neville had to Harry's arm. Harry himself was rather bored and had taken to fiddling with the pendant that hung around his neck. He wasn't sure why he'd decided to wear it, but he supposed it made an okay fashion accessory - in an ugly sort of way.

"_C- could_ it be a w- werewolf k- k- killing the unicorns?" Neville stuttered out.

Harry glanced over at him. "It's not a full moon. They're all in their human form at the moment."

Neville breathed a loud sigh of relief. Harry wrinkled his nose at a puddle of silver blood and sidestepped it.

After several more minutes of dead silence, Harry suddenly skidded to a halt. Neville lost his balance and almost fell. Harry had to steady him.

"What do you think you're--" Weasley began loudly.

"Shut-up, you tactless oaf," Harry hissed. "Just listen."

"-It - It sounds like - like r- rustling," Neville squeaked out. He sounded rather like a mouse.

Harry narrowed his emerald eyes.

"Acromantulas, maybe?" Weasley whispered. "A Lethifold?"

Neville made an odd sobbing noise.

"Shut-up, Weasley," Harry snapped. "You're scaring him." He glanced back into the woods. The sound had stopped. Harry bit his lip and took a few steps forward, pulling Neville with him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Weasley spat. "Going towards the noise?"

Harry looked over his shoulder at him. "What? Afraid of some bushes rustling?"

The Gryffindor gritted his teeth but started walking. Harry smirked to himself - Weasley was so easy to get a rise out of - and maneuvered his way through the trees. The trunks were getting thicker and closer together.

Suddenly, Harry snapped out an arm to stop Neville from going any further.

"Do you see that?"

There was something bright gleaming in the moonlight. It could just be made out in between the tree trunks.

Harry and the others moved cautiously towards the glimmering object. The tree trunks eventually thinned out to form a clearing. The shimmering thing on the ground was now in full view.

Neville whimpered. Harry grimaced.

The unicorn was still more beautiful than any horse, be it magical or muggle, the Harry had ever seen, but he wagered that it would have been an even more impressive sight alive.

"It's - dead, then?"

Harry glared at Weasley in answer. Neville suddenly whimpered, drawing his attention back to the clearing. "What is it?"

Neville raised a shaky finger towards some bushes near the end of the clearing.

"There's nothing . . ." Harry's voice trailed off. He could do nothing but watch as the bushes shook and a hooded figure emerged, crawling across the ground towards the dead unicorn. It slowly lowered its head over a wound on the animal's motionless body and began to drink its blood.

"AAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!"

Weasley let out a glass-shattering scream and bolted (along with Fang). Neville fainted.

Now, Harry Morfin Riddle was not a child who was frightened easily. With the darkest wizard who ever lived as his father, how could he be? He'd met vampires, werewolves and a various array of other dark creatures, spent the night in haunted, boggart ridden castles, and seen some down-right terrifying things.

But right now, watching a shadowy figure drink blood from a dead unicorn, Harry almost wished he could join Neville in the oblivion of unconsciousness. Almost.

The creature suddenly snapped its head up to look right at Harry. The boy forced himself from taking a step backwards. Its beady little eyes just screamed 'evil'.

Unexpectedly, a large figure jumped into sight. This time Harry did take a few steps backward to avoid being rammed into. The hooded little monster quickly scurried off into the woods.

"Are you all right?"

Harry forced his attention away from the spot where the figure had disappeared back to the creature in front of him.

"Yeah," he said slowly. His eyes took in the large centaur. "I'm fine, thank you. What - what was that thing?"

"You are the Riddle boy," the centaur said with a slight growl.

Harry nodded. "I guess the word gets around?"

"The centaurs knew of you before you came to Hogwarts."

"Good for them, then," said Harry, too absorbed in checking on Neville to really answer.

"You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time."

"I'm not afraid of the bloody forest," Harry muttered back.

"Firenze!!" a voice bellowed. Another centaur came thundering into the clearing. "What are you doing?" His eyes flicked to Harry. "You saved the Riddle boy? Are you mad?!"

"He is the only one who can--"

"Any spawn of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named deserves to die! He will be the next dark lord!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. Would he be the next dark lord? Aunt Bellatrix always said he would, but he wasn't too sure he wanted to be one. A dark wizard, yes - that was a given - but . . .

"Let the dark wizards kill each other," the centaur spat. "Then they will spend less time killing the innocent."

"Hey," Harry snapped, "I'm not a dark wizard - or a _dark lord_ - yet!"

"You--"

"I know you understand why the unicorns are being killed, Bane," Firenze shouted. "But I think you have trouble accepting what the consequences will be in the end! I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, even with the Dark Lord's son alongside me if I must!" Firenze looked down at Harry. "Can you ride? It will be quicker that way."

Harry glanced at him. "I've ridden horses before. I assume it's not too different. But can we take Neville?"

Firenze nodded and lowered himself onto his front legs. Harry dragged Neville over to him and threw the boy over his back before climbing on himself. The horse-man trotted away, leaving Bane - who was now shouting something about how disgraceful it was for Firenze to let Harry and Neville sit on his back - behind them.

Harry was tempted to ask about the creature again but decided it was useless - centaurs were usually vague.

"Harry Riddle, do you know what unicorn blood is used for? I am sure your father has books on the subject."

Harry had to think for a minute but the answer came to him. "Unicorn blood will keep you alive no matter how close to death you are, but it has more cons than pros. It's a heinous crime to kill something as perfect and pure as a unicorn to save yourself, so from the moment you drink it you live a type of half-life. You're . . . cursed."

"Correct," Firenze replied. "And--"

"Personally," continued Harry as if the centaur hadn't spoken, "I would never be that desperate. I'd rather just die. I really don't know why anyone would _willingly_ do something that." He paused. "I suppose my father would - that man would do anything to stay alive - but he was rather depraved to start with--"

"It is a desperate thing to do," Firenze interrupted. "But not if all you need to do is stay alive until you can drink something else, something that could bring you back to full strength and power - something that will mean you will never die. Mr. Riddle, do you know that what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

"The Sorcerer's Stone," Harry answered cautiously. "So obviously someone wants to be immortal . . . But who?"

"Someone has been clinging to life for almost fifty years, waiting for their chance to return--"

"Harry! Oh my God! Are you okay?!"

Hermione and Draco were rushing towards him; Weasley trailed behind them. Hagrid and Fang brought up the rear.

"This is where I will leave you. You are safe now."

Harry heaved Neville onto the ground and then gracefully dismounted. "Thanks for the whole saving my life thing," he muttered.

"You are welcome. Good luck, Harry Riddle. The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."

He turned around and cantered back into the forest.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I've finally posted this chapter!!! I was planning on posting it right after the chapter where Harry's on easter break, but I ended up adding like, three chapters in between.

I can't believe that Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is finally coming out tonight at midnight. I'm going to a party where we're gonna count down the minutes until it comes out. I hope my favorite character, Severus Snape, doesn't die!! I love him!

Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing!!! Let's all keep our fingers crossed that the Deathly Hallows has a happy ending!!!

-Anna


	26. The Pendant of Lord Grindelwald

The Great Hall buzzed with morning activity. Headmaster Dumbledore sat in his usual spot at the Head Table, ever so often glancing in Harry's direction with those twinkling blue eyes, almost as if to make sure he wasn't about to pull out his wand and do something horrible.

Severus entered the Great Hall as he usually did - his robes flaring behind him and a scowl on his face. Sabine, ever the social butterfly, sauntered around the tables, greedily scarfing down scraps of food which the students gave her.

Ronald Weasley sat at the Gryffindor Table, his short fire-red hair messy and bags under his eyes, talking in hushed, hurried whispers with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas.

"So the centaur mentioned something about someone who had been waiting fifty years to return to life?" demanded Hermione. She and Neville had taken to always sitting at the Slytherin Table, except on special occasions.

Harry nodded, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth. "He was rather cryptic."

"That's how centaurs are," Draco said. "But you should understand them, Harry - they do talk in riddles, after all."

Neville laughed awkwardly. Harry just stared at him blankly. "Bad pun, Draco."

Neville's weak laughter stopped.

"But who could he have meant?" Hermione continued, staring at him intently. She seemed to have forgotten her food in favor of the discussion.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I _don't know,_ Hermione," he said around a bite of toast. "And, truthfully, I really don't care. I still have exams to study for. I'm wondering why _you_ of all people aren't more worried about that!"

"Oh come on, Harry! You have the highest grades in the bloody school! You don't need to be worried about it. And besides – I _have_ been studying. Ever since before Easter Break."

Harry gritted his teeth and absentmindedly pulled Grindelwald's Pendant out of his shirt to twirl around. It had become a bit of a habit of his.

"Nice necklace, Harry!" Hermione's eyes were gleaming. She dropped her fork (which she had just picked up) back onto her plate. "Where'd you get it?"

Harry glanced down at it. "I bought it in some antique shop in Germany. Paid almost a thousand galleons for the bloody thing. I don't know what was wrong with me. And it's not a necklace. Those are for girls."

Hermione's eyes bulged out of her head. "A thousand?! You have a thousand galleons?"

Draco snorted. "He can spend a thousand galleons on a whim. It wouldn't make a dent in his father's smallest bank account."

"Wouldn't in your father's smallest, either," Harry muttered.

"Is it an antique?"

Harry nodded. "The old woman who sold it mentioned something about it belonging to Grindelwald or some drivel along that line."

Hermione reached out to lightly touch it. "Maybe I can find something about it in the library . . ."

* * *

Hermione slammed a book down in between Draco and Harry, both of whom jumped in surprise. The coffee table jarred, sending an entire stack of books that had been situated precariously on the edge tumbling to the floor.

Harry glared up at her. "How did you get the Slytherin password?" he demanded, gathering up his essay and placing it carefully next to him on the couch. It was his extra credit Charms project which he had been working on ever since Easter Break. It was almost perfect, and he didn't need some overexcited mudblood to spill ink on it.

"I heard it when you screamed it at the entrance on the night of the duel," she replied matter-of-factly, smiling self-righteously.

"I couldn't remember it," Neville whimpered from behind Hermione. The pudgy boy's head popped up from behind the witch's shoulder.

"We don't change the bloody thing enough," Draco muttered.

"Any reason you've stormed into our room other than to flail that book about?" asked Harry impatiently. He had two other extra credit assignments other than Charms that he needed to finish, and he couldn't waste precious time discussing passwords that were long overdue for a change!

"Yes," the Ravenclaw snapped. "I've found out about your necklace." Hermione opened the enormous book to a marked page titled 'The Pendant of Lord Grindelwald.'

"The necklace was created for Grindelwald in 1926 by a Czechoslovakian Gypsy. The base was made out of gold, and the gems are Carnelian crystals. Legend says he wore it constantly.

"When Grindelwald was killed by Headmaster Dumbledore in 1945, the pendant was thought to be lost, but it resurfaced in 1952 in the possession of a Mr. Carter Carnarvon. He died a few months later from a . . ." Hermione paused, grimacing. "Well - This happened." She held up the book.

Neville diverted his eyes with a yipe.

Harry blinked. "Ah . . ."

Draco made a face. "I didn't know the human body could do that . . ."

Hermione put the book back down on the table and skimmed over the page. "It passed down to his godson, Herbert Earl, who, coincidentally, also died a short time later when he and his fiance were decapitated in a car accident by an uninstalled plate glass window."

Harry's eyebrows scrunched together. _An uninstalled plate glass window?_

Hermione continued with her summary. "It passes from owner to owner after that and all of them met with unfortunate ends. The last known owner before you was a Mr. Edward Stanhope, who died when his cruise ship sank in 1988 after colliding with a stray yacht while sailing off the southern coast of Bermuda. The pendant was thought to be lost after that."

"Sounds like it's bloody cursed," said Draco.

Hermione nodded vigorously. "They say it is! They think Grindelwald cursed it right before he died so that no one would ever have it other than him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not afraid of some curse cast by some long dead dark lord."

Hermione shrugged and shook her head. "So be it, Harry. But if you die--"

"I'm not gonna," he said, giving her a stern look. She shook her head again and turned away.

"My father could hex Grindelwald to kingdom come anyway," Harry muttered quietly.

"What was that, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Nothing," he said quickly, "nothing at all."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I ended up writing about half of this chapter after I uploaded it, so if there's a ton of spelling mistakes that's why.

The best thing on TV right now is something about survival tech. No wonder I barely watch TV anymore!

Anyway, thanks for reviewing! I'll try to get the next chapter up soon!

-Anna


	27. The Calm Before the Storm

In the years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he got through his exams when he half expected some shadowy, unknown villain to come bursting through the door at any moment to steal the Stone. While he wasn't particularly concerned about who or what got a hold of the life giving Stone, he was still rather on edge after his experience that night in the Forbidden Forest. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

Yet the days crept by, and there could be no doubt that the Cerberus was still alive and well behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an anti-cheating spell. Harry had attempted to break the spell with some semi-dark magic but it hadn't worked.

They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Harry went just a bit further by charming some music to play and having his pineapple dance in tune with it.

Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox – points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. After concentrating, Harry managed to make his snuffbox very nicely done up in green and silver colors, along with the Slytherin emblem on the top.

Severus made them all nervous (except for possibly Harry and Draco) by breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a forgetfulness potion.

Harry put all of his effort into it, trying to ignore the sudden flashes of heat that Grindelwald's Pendant was wracked with. It had been oscillating between hot and cold ever since his trip into the Forest. But no matter how hot it burned, Harry couldn't bring himself to take it off.

Draco thought that Harry, for some odd reason, had a bad case of exam nerves because Harry couldn't sleep, but the truth was that Harry had been having his old dream again – he would wake up practically every night in a sweat, his father's shout of_ 'Avada Kedavra_' still ringing in his ears.

Maybe it was because they hadn't seen what Harry had seen in the Forest, or maybe because they didn't have a Dark Lord's Pendant burning around their neck, or maybe because none of their fathers were Dark Lords themselves, but Draco, Hermione, and Neville didn't seem as worried about the Stone as Harry. The idea of a unicorn blood sucking monster who was seeking immortality scared them, but they were so busy with their studying that they didn't have much time to fret about what Hagrid or Quirrell might be up to.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchments, Harry couldn't help cheering with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

Harry nodded his agreement, his hand fumbling around with Grindelwald's Pedant. He and Hermione had both taken to studying together all night after they had come back from Easter Break, and they'd apparently read more books than they'd needed to.

Both Harry and Hermione also liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Draco and Neville both said that this made them feel slightly ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The redheaded Weasley Twins, Fred and George, and another Gryffindor boy by the name of Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of the giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows.

"No more studying," sighed Neville happily, stretching out on the grass.

Draco glanced at Harry, who was strangely silent. "You could look more cheerful, Harry. You might obsessively study before exams, but you dislike it, unlike _some people_."

Hermione glared at him.

"We've got a week before we find out how badly we've done," said Neville with all the cheer Harry lacked. "There's no need to worry yet."

"Sorry," Harry replied, "I've been distracted lately."

"You've been obsessing over that necklace," Draco pointed out. "It's cursed, I tell you."

Harry sighed and glanced down at it. "Something - something's not right. I have a bad feeling . . . I think something's going to happen. I'm worried about the Stone. I think danger is coming . . ."

Draco couldn't get worked up, it was too hot.

"Nothing can happen to the stone while Professor Dumbledore is here, Harry," Neville said brightly, the euphoria of a study-free immediate future preventing him from getting upset. "He is, after all, the only wizard You-Know-Who ever feared. I don't think some half-alive . . . thing . . . could get to the stone if he's here."

Hermione looked at him strangely. "Don't you know?"

"Know what?" Harry asked suspiciously. A sense of foreboding was curling in his stomach.

"The headmaster had business with the Minister of Magic," she answered. "I overheard Professor McGonagall say something about it. Dumbledore's in London – he must've left about ten or twenty minutes ago – Harry?!!"

Harry hadn't waited for her to finish her sentence. He was already on his feet, running towards the school.

Hermione, Draco, and Neville glanced at each other and then back at Harry before jumping up and sprinting after him.

* * *

"What are you four doing inside?"

Harry felt his heart drop at the sharp voice of Professor McGonagall. There was no way he was going to be able to get to the Stone now. All he could do was try to wiggle out of the situation without loosing too many points.

"Why, nothing, Professor," Harry answered smoothly. "We were just getting--"

"Someone's trying to steal the--"

Harry slapped a hand over Neville's mouth. He had to force himself not to grimace – McGonagall had to know they were up to something now.

"What was that?" Professor McGonagall asked, staring at them all as if any one of them might suddenly pull out their wand and cast the killing curse at her.

Harry took his hand off of Neville's mouth and awkwardly slid it around to the other boy's shoulders, lightly patting his shoulder with his fingers. He smiled disarmingly. "--Poor Neville here is in a bit of fluster because Sally-Anne Perks tried to steal his rememberall. I swear that thing attracts more thieves than Knockturn Alley does Death Eaters. We were just going to lock it in his dorm so that no one could make off with it again." Harry silently prayed that McGonagall didn't ask to see the aforementioned rememberall, as it was currently locked in the Hufflepuff dorm. People did have a tendency to want to play with the fragile glass object as if it was a toy, and Neville kept loosing it, so he'd decided it was for the best to just keep it locked in his trunk.

McGonagall still had that wary look in her eye. "And it took all of you to do that?"

Harry shrugged. "He needed a bit of protection. It wasn't as if we were going to go into the Hufflepuff dorm with him, Professor. Now if you'll excuse us . . ." Harry moved to go around the teacher.

McGonagall stepped in front of him. "I'm certain that you of all people, Mr. Riddle, will be able to make sure that Miss. Perks does not attempt to steal Mr. Longbottom's rememberall again. It's against school policy to have students running about the halls when there is no one there to supervise them. I suggest you go back outside and stay there."

Harry shot her his best hateful glare. He'd never heard of that particular _policy_. He ripped his gaze away from the teacher to look at his friends.

"Come on, all of you. Let's do what Professor McGonagall says and go back outside."

Neville whimpered a bit.

"Don't worry, Neville." Harry patted the other boy's back. "We care about keeping your things safe even if _some people_ don't."

McGonagall opened her mouth to retort but Harry had managed to herd his friends away before she could utter the first syllable.

"What in the bloody hell was that about, Harry?" Hermione hissed quietly.

"We can't have her any more suspicious of us than she already is," he replied.

"Why?"

"Tonight. It's going to happen tonight."

"What, Harry? What is going to happen tonight? Stop talking in--" Hermione paused and winced at the horrible pun she was about to make. "Stop talking in bloody riddles!!"

"Someone is going to try to steal that goddamn Stone tonight, Hermione!!"

Oh yes - something very sinister was going to be occurring in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in a few hours time. He was sure of it.

And he was going to make certain that he would be right there when it happened.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I AM FOURTEEN!!!! TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY!!!!! I rewrote the beginning of this chapter yesterday because I wasn't happy with it.

Thanks for all the great reviews!!!

-snarryvader81 (aka Anna)


	28. Muggle Thoughts Come Unbidden

The third floor corridor on the right-hand side was eerily quiet. Four students, three boys, two with black hair and one with bleach blond, and one bushy haired Ravenclaw girl silently stood in front of the door behind which they knew lurked a vicious, three headed dog. No noise could be heard coming from the other side, but Harry wasn't at all sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.

"Everybody ready for this?" Harry asked, carefully masking his slight nervousness, while staring at the jarred third floor corridor door. After the incident with Professor McGonagall, he, Hermione, Draco, and Neville had all went back outside and, after lengthy debate about which course of action would be most judicious, agreed to meet there later that night after curfew. Unfortunately, Harry and Draco had run into Mrs. Norris in one of the dungeon corridors, and Harry had had to resort to stunning her. _Nothing_ was going to keep him from getting to the Stone and finding out what was going on – he didn't care if he even had to _Obliviate_ a teacher or two to do it.

Draco opened his mouth but no sound came out. He shut his lips and cleared his throat before attempting again. "I'm ready, Harry."

Hermione sighed. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Neville just squeaked.

"Who has the musical instrument?"

"Oh! I do." Hermione pulled out a small harmonica from a pocket in her robe. She held it out for Harry with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

Harry just stared at the silver instrument, a slight sneer of disdain on his face. "Do I need to know how to play it?"

"No. Any type of music should put it to sleep, no matter how horrible or out of tune it sounds." The muggleborn girl slightly waved the harmonica at Harry, encouraging him to take it.

Glaring, Harry snatched it from her hand.

"Now, let's go before someone finds us." Harry pushed the door open a bit more, fully expecting to come face to face with a rabid, snarling Cerberus. The Cerberus he found, though, was loudly snoring, deep asleep. He glanced all around the room, finally zeroing in on a rather sizable harp in the corner. Dainty music drifted from its magically moving strings.

"Looks like someone is a few steps ahead of us," Draco whispered. Harry nodded his agreement while going about pushing one of the dog's massive paws off the trap door.

He swung it open, only to find himself staring down into blackness.

"What do you think is down there?" Draco asked, inching up next to the opening. Neville cowered by his side.

Harry tsk-tsk-tsked. "I dunno. It must be some kind of trap." He slowly looked up from the blackness to stare at Draco and Neville, both of whom were still looking down.

In a show of Slytherin self-preservation that would have made even Tom Marvolo Riddle himself proud, Harry shoved both Draco and Neville through the trapdoor and into the abyss below.

"Are you alive?" he inquired once he heard them both hit the bottom.

Neville wailed loudly. Draco spat out, "Yes, you inconsiderate bastard!!"

Harry rolled his eyes. Hermione looked slightly flustered by his actions but shook it off and said, "I'll go next." She inched towards the trapdoor, trying - and failing - to summon up enough courage to jump. She made an odd moaning sound and took several steps back. "I can't!"

"What?" Harry snapped. He eyed the still-slumbering Cerberus cautiously. He was well aware that the charm on the harp couldn't last forever, and he, for one, did not want to be in the room when it woke up.

"I'm afraid of heights! I've been like that ever since I was little!"

Harry threw his hands up into the air. "You have to do it! Just close your bloody eyes!!"

Hermione shook her head frantically. "I can't! I couldn't even bare to lift my broom more than a few feet off the ground during lessons! I can't - I just ca-a-a-a-a---"

Hermione's last word was cut off mid-syllable as Harry repeated an earlier action - he pushed her backward, sending her stumbling blindly into the trapdoor.

Unlike Hermione, Harry didn't waste any time – muttering about incompetent idiot sidekicks, he strode to the edge and, without a moment's hesitation, stepped into the hole.

His vision was spinning on the way down, effectively blinding him, but as soon as he hit the surprisingly soft ground with a thump, his eyes started to adjust to the darkness and he began to look around. Distantly, he heard the beautiful music stop and the dog begin to stir. He briefly wondered about how they'd go about exiting after this was all over, but found he couldn't really bring himself to care. The teachers would have to come looking for them eventually.

"We must me miles under the school," Hermione breathed.

"Lucky this plant thing's here, really," Draco murmured, swallowing and glancing down at the vegetation in question. His eyes widened. "Oh shit."

Harry's gaze immediately darted downwards. He had to resist the urge to scream some choice words, as well. Tendrils of the plant were lightly twisting around his ankles and quickly moving up his legs.

"Devil's Snare," he began, his eyes widening. "Devil's Snare!!!!"

"_Thank you_ for informing us of what it's called! It's a big help!!"

Vaguely recalling a book in his father's library he'd once glanced at that had had a section on Devil's Snare, Harry stilled immediately, and the tendrils began to recede until he was completely free. Jolting, the section of plant beneath him gave way and he fell through to the hard ground below, landing on his backside.

"Ow," he moaned quietly. He staggered to his feet and massaged his stinging bum.

Suddenly, the Devil's Snare began to cave again and Hermione dropped through onto the ground. "Stop moving!!" the called to the two boys who remained ensnared by the plant. He watched in annoyance as they just fought to pull the plant off them, but the harder they strained against it, the tighter and faster the tendrils wound around them. He really needed to get lackeys – er – _friends_ – who could keep their cool in difficult situations.

"STOP MOVING, YOU FOOLS!!!" Harry screamed. "OR DO YOU WANT TO BE STRANGLED TO DEATH BY A PLANT?!!"

Harry's voice seemed penetrate the panicked haze around Draco's mind, and he abruptly stilled. The Devil's Snare slowly released him and gave out under his weight. He landed on the ground with a thump.

A wail sounded from above, reminding them that Neville was still trapped.

"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare," Harry murmured to himself. "It – it likes the dark and damp - it hates - it hates - hates light!!! Sunlight!! Fire!!"

"Then light a fire!!" Hermione shouted, wringing her hands.

"There's no wood!" Harry screamed back.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?! ARE YOU A WIZARD OR NOT?!!" Draco bellowed from his spot on the floor.

Cursing himself for thinking like a muggle, Harry whipped out his wand and shouted, "_Incendio_!!" A jet of light hit the plant and it promptly went up in flames. Neville fell through to the ground.

"Were all alive, then," Harry announced. "Better than I thought it would turn out."

Neville whimpered.

"And here I thought you didn't loose your head in a crisis," Draco muttered, pulling himself up off the floor. "'There's no wood' – _honestly._"

Harry sent a Death Eater death glare in the blond's direction.

"This way," Hermione announced, pointing down a stone passageway which was the only way forward. Bracing himself, Harry gripped his wand tighter and cast a quick _lumos_ spell, almost dreading what he would find ahead of him.

He mentally went over all the defensive spells he knew, just in case.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm so excited! I'm getting a German Shepherd (my dream pet, by the way) in about a month! She's adorable!

Did anyone else notice in the Lord of the Rings how Sam looks like he has a crush on Frodo? I'm watching it right now and it's really funny . . .

Anyway, thanks for all those reviews!! I'll try to update soon!!!

-snarryvader81 (aka Anna)


	29. It's a Plane! It's a Bird! It's a Key!

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle trickle of water down the walls. The passageway sloped downwards, and Harry was oddly reminded of Gringotts. All thoughts of defensive spells vanished from his mind with an unpleasant jolt of his heart, as he remembered clearly that dragons were said to be guarding vaults in the bank. Harry might not be very concerned about most creatures, but an adult dragon was a completely different story. A baby one was bad enough, but what if they encountered a _fully-grown_ one?

"Can – can you hear something?" stuttered Neville quietly.

Pushing his worrisome thoughts to the back of his mind, Harry focused on listening. Sure enough, a soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "I don't think so . . . sounds like wings to me."

"There's a light ahead – I can see something moving."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. The air was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" asked Draco, looking up at the birds.

"Probably," said Harry, wincing. "They don't look very vicious, but if they all swooped down at once they could probably, I don't know, rip off some skin and—"

"Harry!" snapped Draco, holding up a hand in a gesture that clearly said stop.

Harry rolled his eyes and abruptly reached out, shoving Draco into the middle of the room.

The boy lost his balance and fell to the ground, his hands automatically going to cover his face and his legs folding up in front of his chest. However, the feel of sharp beaks and claws tearing at him never came, as the birds didn't even seem to notice the blond boy.

By the time Draco deemed it safe enough to uncover his eyes, Harry was already over at the door, pulling at the handle, but it was locked. Hermione and Neville began to tug and heave at the door with him, but it wouldn't budge, not even when Hermione tried the _Alohomora._ Harry then tried the same spell, which still proved fruitless. Hermione and Harry then tried casting the spell at the same time to double the power, but nothing happened.

"Now what?" asked Harry impatiently.

Hermione looked up and narrowed her eyes. "These birds . . . they can't just be here for decoration."

They all turned their heads upward and watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering – _glittering_?

"Those aren't birds," said Harry slowly. "They're – _keys_. Winged keys – look carefully. So that must mean . . ." He looked around the chamber while the other three squinted up at the flock of keys.

". . . yes – look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!

"But there are _hundreds_ of them!"

Draco leaned down and examined the lock on the door. "We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one – probably silver, like the handle."

Harry and Draco both seized broomsticks and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys and leaving their two companions on the ground (as Hermione still insisted she was afraid of heights and Neville said he would probably end up falling off and breaking his neck – a statement with which Hermione adamantly agreed, having witnessed the boy's first flying lesson).

The two boys grabbed and snatched, but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one – or spot any one of them in particular.

Harry, though, had proved over the years to have inherited his father's talent for observation. Both father and son had a knack for spotting things most other people didn't. After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, Harry noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

"That one!" he called to Draco. "That big one – there – no, there – with bright blue wings – the feathers are all crumpled on one side!"

Draco went speeding in the direction that Harry was pointing, crashed into the ceiling, and nearly fell off his broom.

"We've got to close in on it!" shouted Harry, not taking his eyes off the key with the damaged wing. He glanced down at the ground. "Hermione! Neville! We could _really_ use some bloody help up here!"

Neville and Hermione glanced at each other and back up at the two boys, both of whom had just collided with one another. The key zoomed out from in between them unscathed and darted upwards.

Hermione gulped and looked over at Neville, a question in her eyes.

Neville bit his lip but slowly nodded.

Hermione quickly grabbed two brooms, handing one to Neville and throwing her leg over the other one herself. Neville exhaled loudly but did the same. They both pushed off at the same time.

Neville tilted dangerously, while Hermione didn't seem to be able to open her eyes.

"Draco!" shouted Harry. "You come at it from above – Hermione, you come at it – HERMIONE! Open your eyes!!!"

The girl's eyes slowly opened. She willed her brain not to register how far off the ground she was.

"Hermione, stay below and stop it from going down – Neville, you come at it from the right! I'll try to catch it! Right, NOW!!!"

Draco dived, Hermione summoned her courage and flew upwards, while Neville – still teetering unstably – managed to close in on it from the right. The key dodged all of them, and Harry streaked after it.

It sped towards the wall. Harry leaned forward and with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand. Draco cheered while Hermione immediately made her way to the ground. Neville's broom tipped a bit too much to the left during his descent and he fell off, but Hermione, still full of adrenaline, thought fast enough to cast a quick cushioning charm. Luckily, no bones were broken.

The two Slytherin boys landed quickly, and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned – it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

"Ready?" asked Harry, trying not to show his dread at what they might find on the other side of the door.

Draco and Hermione nodded, but Neville's eyes grew wide and he shakily pointed upwards at the rest of the keys. "L-look!!"

Harry glanced over his shoulder.

All the keys had formed a group and were flying straight at them.

"Great Merlin!"

The children quickly ran though the threshold and slammed the door, just before the keys reached them.

Draco winced at the sound of the keys slamming into the other side of the door.

Relieved that another obstacle had been successfully maneuvered through, Harry turned around, only to be met with a sight that sent a jolt of fear through his entire body.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry I haven't been updating but my laptop's hardrive crashed and my uncle, to _repair _it, erased all its memory but then finally resorted to just getting a new hardrive. I think I should just get a new damn laptop, as mine breaks every time I turn around!

Luckily, during one of the other numerous times my laptop broke, I had emailed this story to myself on a different computer, so I still had it.

I rewrote this chapter, anyway, so I guess in the end it didn't make that much of a difference, but . . .

Thanks for reading and reviewing!!

-snarryvader81 (aka Anna)


	30. Harry Riddle vs The Sea Monster

Harry stared at the wide expanse of water before him, trying to maintain his outward calm. The chamber that they had walked into had four walls and a ceiling, but the floor was nearly nonexistent. There was a bit of a rocky shore on either side of the room, by the doorway they had just come through and the closed door they would have to exit through, but for the most part it looked like it opened up onto an underground lake.

"This looks easy," said Neville, sounding immensely relieved. The Hufflepuff was standing by a simple, wooden rowboat that was pushed up on the shore. Two paddles were strewn on the ground next to it.

Harry scowled at him. "Don't be stupid!" he hissed. "It's can't be as simple as it seems to be on the surface!"

"But—" began Neville, gesturing wildly at the boat and paddles.

"_But_ nothing. A giant, three-headed dog, Devil's Snare, and _airborne killer keys_, only to lead to an innocent little lake? It's some sort of trap."

"I agree with Harry!" said Hermione promptly.

"_Of course_ you do," Draco muttered under his breath. Hermione shot a glare in his direction before continuing.

"It's logical, isn't it?" she said. "And it's in keeping with the pattern of the traps. All of them – well, not counting the Cerberus, of course, but anyway – all of them seemed rather innocuous at first glance. A plant, some flying keys . . ."

Draco snorted. "Innocuous, maybe, but keys with wings aren't a normal sight, even in the Wizarding World."

"I didn't say they were '_normal_'," Hermione hissed, annoyed at the constant interruptions. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Well . . ." Neville began hesitantly. "We really don't have a choice, do we? Unless we turn back, that is."

All three turned to Harry with questioning eyes.

He was silent for a moment, but finally gritted out: "We've come this far. I don't think this bloody lake can present that much of a problem."

Gathering every ounce of bravery he inherited from his mudblood Gryffindor mother, Harry strode purposely towards the flimsy looking boat and climbed in.

Hermione, Draco, and Neville climbed in after him. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff both grabbed paddles and began rowing.

Apprehension fluttered in Harry's chest. He shut his eyes tightly and held them like that for several seconds, fully content to not look at the water that only a thin piece of wood separated him from, but they snapped open when a loud splash echoed through the room.

"What was that?" he asked sharply. Widely dilated eyes glanced around the room.

Hermione gulped and scanned the water with wide eyes. "I don't know," she whispered.

The boat suddenly gave a great jolt, almost as if it was hit by something from below.

Harry's breathing sped up and he went for his wand.

Before he could get it out of its holster, however, the boat collided with something again, and this time, it couldn't stay upright.

Harry's panicked screech caught in his throat as he felt the boat rock violently. A heavy sheet of water splashed onto him just before he felt the boat tilt too much to the left, sending all four children sliding towards the portside. Their weight, combined with whatever was pushing the boat upwards, was too much, and it capsized.

Harry hit the water with a loud splash and immediately began to thrash around. He was unsuccessful in his attempt to keep his head above the water, and began to sink.

_Where the hell is that natural buoyancy?_ thought Harry wildly as his air was cut off. His head slid underwater.

* * *

He was out of air, and his vision was blurred. He thought he saw a dark shadow skim past him, but he couldn't be sure. 

Suddenly, he felt something grab him and pull him upwards.

A dim light flooded his vision as his head cleared the surface. He gulped in a huge breath and started to doggy paddle to the best of his ability. The pale hand that pulled him to the surface still helped to hold him up. One of the wild thoughts that ran through Harry's mind was that he really should thank Neville, but instead he opted to scream, "What the hell was that? There must be some kind of bloody sea monster in this goddamn_ water_! I knew it wouldn't be _easy_!!" Of all the things that Dumbledore could've chosen as a trap, why did it have to be water? Why?

"We'll just have to—" Hermione was interrupted by a loud yip from Neville.

"Something just brushed past my leg!" he wailed.

"Told you there was a sea monster," Harry hissed in a high, squeaky voice that was so out of character for him that it was almost funny.

They floated there for several more seconds, too afraid to really move, until suddenly Neville's head disappeared beneath the water.

"Neville!" Hermione screeched. She seemed do debate what to do for a split second before diving under the water after him.

Harry glared at Draco. "Get over here and help hold my bloody head above the water," he snapped. Draco raced to comply. "You know I can't swim," he continued to rant.

Hermione's head popped back up. She looked close to tears - or maybe she was in tears. The water made it hard to tell. "I can't find Neville!!" she shrieked. "But I saw the monster!! It's huge and long with six flippers and it looks sort of like the Loch Ness Monster!!!"

Harry wasn't very sure what the 'Loch Ness Monster' was, but he had some idea of what sort of creature it was. A _Plesiopant _was a giant, sea-faring monster that was rather snake-like with six flippers. Harry had read about it in one of the books in Riddle Library. He just couldn't remember how to go about surviving an encounter with one--

All thoughts of defeating the Plesiopant was were thrown out of his mind as Harry felt something wind around his leg and tug. The last thing he heard was Hermione scream his name before his head was pulled underwater.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm so sorry that it took so long to update, but I've just moved from one state to another, and this story was trapped on the computer at my grandmother's house in the state in which we no longer live. It had been on my laptop, but it crashed again and this time my uncle had to replace the hardrive and I lost everything. Luckily, during one of the other 'crashed' periods, I had emailed it to my grandmother's computer. My laptop works again, and I tried to email this story to it several times, but it didn't work. Then my laptop got a virus and it had to be repaired again! 

So, there were computer problems. Yeah. Also, I realize that the chapters in this story are really, really short. But I wrote this a while ago and I really had no concept as to how to add length to a chapter. So, I tried to make this chapter longer, though it didn't really go so well. There are longer chapters coming, though - I swear!

The idea to have one of the obsticles/traps that Harry and company have to face before getting to the Stone is a large body of water comes from Chiyoku Shibata. She/He said in her/his review of chapter seven that "You made it so that Harry never learned to swim...you're gonna have to do something about that! Either make him learn or...maybe use it for some plot in the future? You wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise, right?". So, since I don't like loose ends, I decided to add this chapter and the next one.

The line that Neville says, "Something just brushed past my leg!", is from Star Wars. Luke Skywalker says it during the scene in 'A New Hope' where he, Han Solo, and Leia Organa are trapped in the Death Star's garbage compactor.

And, the final thing I'm going to waste your time with is that, after looking through everything I could find on magical beasts in Harry Potter, I couldn't find any aggressive sea monster. Then, after reading up on sea monsters in general, I discovered that there was a theory that the Loch Ness Monster was actually a type of dinosaur called a Plesiosaurus. Thus from my desperation came the 'Plesiopant'.

Now I better stop with this author's note or it'll end up being longer than the actual chapter! Thanks for your patience! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Anna


	31. Harry Riddle vs The Sea Monster Pt II

His vision was blurred, his ears clogged, and he was quickly running out of air. Underwater, everything seemed to be in a state of slow motion. He could make out the Plesiopant's long body and could vaguely see the flexible flipper wound around his calf, but he was in a state of too much panic to even attempt to struggle. His mind raced with wild thoughts, most of them not even pertaining to the situation at hand.

Would his father be disappointed that he died for such an unimportant reason? Would Dumbledore be happy to have him out of the way? Was this some elaborate plan of the Headmaster's to kill him? Would his father mourn him? Would he be happy he was dead and therefore out of the way? Or maybe he would have another child to replace him? And, possibly, his most unwelcome, yet most persistent, thought was: Would he see his mother when he was dead?

Oddly, Harry's oxygen deprived brain registered that he was rather cold and numb, even though the water was still very warm.

Harry's racing thoughts seemed to freeze. Cold. Cold. That was the key. Plesiopants were cold blooded creatures - the water they swam in had to be warm to keep them alive. If the water was cold, though . . .

Harry started to reach for his wand. His brain was practically shutting down from lack of air, but he still managed to pull the piece of wood from its holster, which was strapped to his arm. He really didn't know if a wand would work underwater, but he was desperate.

The boy frantically tried to think of an appropriate charm. He'd used one to freeze some boiling water once. He hoped it would work. "_Congelo_," he spluttered out through the water, screaming the word mentally and concentrating as hard as he could. The liquid took its opportunity and rushed into his mouth, choking him.

Almost as if from a third person viewpoint, Harry noticed the water start to gradually change from its almost-too-warm temperature to an uncomfortable cold.

Harry felt the hold on his leg gradually be relieved, and he immediately started flailing towards the surface. He was sure he was completely out of air.

And, just as soon as he had decided that his life was over, his head broke the surface. He inhaled more oxygen than he thought was humanly possible.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice sounded incredibly relieved. "You're okay!"

Draco automatically moved to hold Harry up. Harry vaguely noticed through his gasps that Neville had also come back above the water at some point.

"What'd you do to get the monster to let go of you?!"

"It - It doesn't like the cold," Harry choked out. "I cast a spell called _Congelo_."

Hermione's face froze. "_Congelo_? You - you cast _Congelo_?" She turned chalk white. "We have to get out of the water."

"What? Why?" Neville asked, his eyes growing big.

"_Congelo _is a freezing charm. The entire lake is about to become one giant ice cube in about five minutes."

Harry began hissing a long spiel in Parseltongue, unaware he wasn't speaking English. Hermione didn't seem to notice, while Neville looked at him oddly.

"Come on!" Hermione continued. "We'll have to swim under the boat." The flimsy wooden rowboat had overturned, but it was still floating, trapping them underneath it.

Harry was too scared to make any attempt to move.

"Come on, Harry," Draco snapped, grabbing his wrist and tugging at him. "I know you can't swim, but we've got to go!!!" The blond managed to pull Harry underwater and guide him under the boat. Once they all resurfaced on the other side, they could already feel the water hardening. The shore was about ten feet away.

Harry began to follow his instincts and kick his feet and paddle with his hands.

After several frantic seconds of flailing about, the shore was only about two feet away, but the water was almost solid. Draco, Hermione, and Neville had already made it to the rocky shore.

Harry was panicking. He began to swim as kick and paddle as hard as he could. The shore was almost in reach.

Suddenly, he tried to kick, but his foot was held back. His heart jolted - he was stuck.

Draco seemed to have come to the same conclusion. He got down on his knees and reached out his hand as far as he could.

Straining, Harry just managed to grab a hold of it. Hermione and Neville had joined the effort by latching onto Draco, who by now was pulling hard to get Harry's foot out of the ice.

Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to watch the water freeze around him. He'd surely be stuck there forever, and either die of hypothermia or hunger or thirst or—

Suddenly, with a loud crack and a snap, Harry felt his foot freed. With great effort on the part of his three shore-bound friends, he was pulled through the quickly hardening water in front of him and onto land, just as it changed into ice.

They had all collapsed into a pile of tangled limbs, but none of them had the energy to move. All of them were breathing heavily, gasping for air.

Harry, incredibly, was the first one to have some semblance of a recovery. He rolled off the top of the pile and pulled himself up into a sitting position. He reached down to massage his icy foot. He checked his holster for his wand, only to find it empty.

Concerned, but too tired to be panicked, he glanced around the small shore, only to find his wand a few feet behind him. How it got there, he didn't know, but at this point he couldn't bring himself to care.

He picked up the wand and pointed it at his foot, muttering, "_Glacialis Abrumpo._" The ice instantly disappeared and his foot went back to somewhere around its normal temperature. His toes still felt odd, though he was too relieved about his continued survival to really take notice.

"Ssso," he breathed out, subconsciously hissing his 's's in place of speaking Parseltongue, "I wonder what'sss through the next door?"

Hermione, Draco, and Neville all gave a collective groan.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Its finally here! The sea monster is defeated, and now we can move onto the chess game. I should've updated sooner, but I've been oddly preoccupied with a weird Star Wars fic I'm writing. Its got characters from both the movies and Knights of the Old Republic (as I've recently developed an unhealthy obsession with that game) and the plot is very complicated and fairly unbelievable. There's also some random genderbending of one character for good measure, though strangely there is no slash/yaoi. Yeah, I'm _never_ going to be posting that one.

But I digress. This chapter is done, and there's only about seven left. Providing there are no computer problems, the next chapter should be up in about a week.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Anna


	32. There For The Sacrifice

One of Tom Marvolo Riddle's favorite games was chess.

Harry had often seen him play it with Lucius or Severus during days when there was little else to do, no meetings to attend or blood filled plans to construct. He could sit at the board for hours, analyzing the pieces, mapping out moves and countermoves in his mind.

Harry supposed that it was very much like what one did during a war. Pawns, like all of those nameless, faceless death eaters, were there for sacrifice, so that bishops and rooks, Luciuses and Severuses, could be protected.

Harry understood that well, but he had never been very good at chess.

"Do we have to - have to play?" asked Hermione hesitantly. The nearest chessman - a knight, Harry noticed - slowly turned its faceless head towards her. "To get across?" she continued, shrinking back ever so slightly.

Slowly, it nodded.

Harry winced. Hermione quickly stepped back from the edge of the huge chessboard and returned to Harry's side.

The boy glanced from Draco to Neville to Hermione. They were all intelligent in their own ways, even Neville, but _intelligence_ wasn't the key. Strategy was.

"Can any of you play chess?" he asked, semi-hopefully.

They all shook their heads.

"Father _tried_ to teach me," drawled Draco. "But I found the whole thing _very_ tedious."

"Did you now?" snarled Harry. His stressed mind suddenly found Draco's arrogance very irritating.

Draco flinched back slightly, nonplussed at his friend's sudden vehemence.

Harry hissed out a breath and pressed his fingers to his temples. Closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths, he finally announced, "Everybody take the place of a black piece."

They were all silent for a moment.

"Which ones?" Neville finally asked, his voice shaky.

"Any of them!" Harry hissed, snapping his eyes open.

Neville jumped slightly and scampered off. Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed Hermione's arm. She immediately jerked away and strolled over to the board on her own.

Harry gritted his teeth against the nervousness swelling in his gut and strutted confidently over to the board. His first instinct was to scream at the king to get out of his way, but he fleetingly recalled that that particular piece could only move one spot at a time.

Flushing slightly with embarrassment, he barked, "Move it!"

The queen might've been offended by his rudeness, but her lack of a face made it hard to tell.

Settling into her spot, he unconsciously ran his hands down his wet uniform in a futile attempt to straighten the wrinkles.

"Okay," he hissed through his clenched teeth, glancing around the board. He almost rolled his eyes when he noticed that Neville had taken the place of a pawn. Hermione had chosen a rook, and Draco a bishop. "Draco, move--"

"White always goes first," Hermione cut in.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. She nodded apologetically and looked pointedly across the board, where a white pawn had moved forward two squares.

"Move up, Neville," Harry hissed.

Harry first realized they were loosing when their other rook was taken most violently by the queen, who smashed him to the floor and dragged him off of the board, where he still laid unmoving. Harry vaguely got the sense that he had just been witness to a rather brutal murder, though he wasn't effected as much as Neville, who looked as if his heart was seizing.

"Had to let that happen," he said confidently. Keeping control of the situation was the key to preventing panic. At least he thought it was . . . Maybe he should've paid more attention to his father . . . "Uh, leaves you free to take that - that pawn, Hermione. Go."

"Pawn?" muttered Hermione.

"Do _you_ see anything better?" he snapped.

The white players, Harry quickly discovered, were very much like Death Eaters - merciless and bloodthirsty. After a short time of playing, there had accumulated a rather large pile of what had once been black pieces along the side of the board.

"Hermione, move three squares to the right."

As soon as it was out of his mouth, Harry knew it was wrong, but Hermione had already started moving before he could get his mouth to work.

"No!" he exclaimed, but the girl had already jogged down three squares.

"What?" Hermione demanded.

Harry didn't get the chance to answer. The remaining white bishop went sailing through the opening Hermione had created and slammed into Draco, sending him flying backwards off the board.

"Bloody-effing-hell!" Harry cursed, grinding his teeth.

Hermione made a shocked noised. "Draco!" she shrieked.

The boy laid unmoving for several horrible seconds, during which Harry wildly imagined Narcissa sobbing her eyes out over Draco's coffin and Lucius pointing his wand at him with the Killing Curse on the tip of his tongue--

Draco wheezed.

Harry's knees almost gave out.

"Six - six spaces to the left, Hermione," he ordered, failing to keep the shake out of his voice.

Time almost seemed to dissolve after awhile, threading together into one big blur of cracking pieces and analyzing if-I-move-there-then-he-might-move-there-after-I-move-back-over-here-from-here-and-there.

Harry's brain felt like mush by the time he finally found enough confidence to announce, "I think we're nearly there . . ." His bleary eyes darted from piece to piece, gradually moving back and forth between Hermione and the white queen.

He swallowed convulsively.

"I have to be taken, don't I?" Hermione whispered, her voice deathly quiet.

Harry nodded.

"No!" exclaimed Neville. "I mean, no! Draco hasn't even woken up yet! And - and maybe he was lucky, or something! It might kill you, Hermione!"

"No," Hermione cut in. "It's the only way. It'll leave Harry free to checkmate the king."

"But--"

"Some maniac could have the key to immortality in their grasp," Hermione cut in. "And that, Neville, would be _very bad_."

"So would you getting your head cracked open," he murmured.

Hermione didn't reply. Trembling slightly, she stepped forward.

The queen was across the board before Harry could even register it. Her arm swung out and cracked Hermione across the side of her head, sending her flying to the floor.

Neville screamed, and Harry held his breath, crossing his fingers behind his back and biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

On the spot where she had fallen, Hermione's chest slowly began to rise and fall.

He had the unfamiliar urge to faint, but he fought it down and forced himself three spaces to the left.

"Checkmate," he croaked at the king, who promptly removed his crown and threw it at Harry's feet.

Harry stumbled backward into Neville before regaining his balance and staggering through the chess pieces, who had parted before them.

"We won," said Neville hoarsely. "We . . . _won_."

Harry managed a smirk. "Don't sound so - so surprised, Neville. I always win."

-

-

-

**Author's Note:** And that was a hell of a lot longer then what I promised. I have no excuses. I just got completely and utterly sidetracked. First I got lost in the never ending abyss of darkness that is the Silent Hill series, and then I decided that I liked Resident Evil, so much that I named my new puppy after one of the characters, and then I got back into Smallville for a few days, and then back into Silent Hill . . . I'm very fickle.

Anyway, I apologize so much for the wait.

--Anna


	33. Icy Fire And Fruit

"Oh – _Merlin_," said Harry, pulling his wet robe over his nose. Their being wet didn't help with the sickening smell that permeated throughout the room – if anything, it just seemed to magnify it.

Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had dealt with on Halloween, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harry whispered, cautiously stepping over one of the ugly monster's massive legs. "Come on, I can't breathe."

He pulled open the next door and they both quickly made their way through it, grateful to be away from the smell but wary of what lie ahead.

* * *

"So what - what do we have to do?" Neville asked, mystified.

Harry glanced first at the large fire pit that blocked the exit to the room, then at the other that had sprung up at the entrance, and back at the table that held what looked like several different types of plants.

"We-we don't have to w-walk through the fire, do we? I don't want to be burnt!"

"I'd say," Harry cut in, "that we'll have to find the _plant_ that can protect us from fire."

"But didn't Professor Sprout already have an obstacle?"

Harry glanced at him sharply. "Explain."

He shrunk back. "Well - well, first there was the--" He made an encompassing motion with his arms. "The dog. Hagrid. Then the Devil's Snare. Professor Sprout. Catch the key, Professor Flitwick. Or maybe Hooch, I'm not sure. Transfigured chess pieces. McGonagall."

"The water?" demanded Harry.

"I don't know," he said earnestly. "Maybe . . . Dumbledore? Or - or maybe no one. Maybe it was just there and it - it was a convenient challenge. It was hard enough, wasn't it?" He shook his head. "But what I'm trying to say is that all of the professors are protecting this, so why would there be two for one?"

Harry bit his lip. "It would be Snape's turn," he eventually said. "But Dumbledore doesn't trust Snape."

"Why not?" demanded Neville.

"Because he's a Death Eater," said Harry bluntly.

Neville jerked back as if he was slapped. "A - _a_--"

"So, a potion really would've worked the best," he continued thoughtfully, walking over to the table and carefully looking over all of what sat on the table.

There were three weed-like plants, one black, one green, and one blue. One orange chopped-up plant was in a Petri dish. A purple flower sat next to something akin to yellow grass. A pink leaf sat next to a piece of parchment.

"But they had to settle for something different."

Harry cautiously raised the parchment up off the table. It read:

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_One of us will help you, which you'd do well to find._

_One among the seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another you would taste will take you back instead._

_Two among our number are purely cuisine,_

_Three of us are killers, deadlier than morphine._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on victual's left side;_

_Second, different are those who sit at either end,_

_But if you would move ahead, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different colors,_

_Neither aubergine nor cerise hold death in their structures._

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Harry grimaced. "At least the troll in the other room was already dead."

Neville looked pained. "A riddle?"

Harry resisted the urge to groan inelegantly, but couldn't stop himself from exclaiming in dismay, "It's so - _long_. And . . . complicated."

"And senseless."

Harry nodded his agreement and looked at Neville with desperate eyes.

The Hufflepuff shrugged apologetically.

* * *

"At least I'm drying," muttered Harry as he halfheartedly fanned himself in a futile attempt to ward of the heat of the fires.

Neville narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "And at least _I'm_ trying."

Harry smirked, lolling his head to the side so that his eyes met Neville's. "How very . . . Hufflepuff of you, Longbottom."

Neville's mouth thinned.

"Oh, what?" said Harry cruelly. "Did I hurt your feelings? I'm not trying to be mean, Neville, just realistic. I'm not particularly good at riddles, despite that horrid last name of mine, and I doubt you're any better. The only person who might've possibly been able to solve it was Hermione, but considering she is stone cold unconscious in a room that we can't get into without contracting third degree burns, I doubt that she'll be coming along anytime soon to help us--"

"This is poison," declared Neville. He held up the black weed. "If it doesn't kill you, your mind would never be right again." He tossed it over Harry's body and into the fire.

Harry jumped and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Are you _mad_?!" he demanded. "That could've been the one we needed!"

"And _this_." He held up the green weed. "Parsley." It was swiftly on its way towards the flames.

"Bell pepper," he said, pointing at the orange plant. The glass dish shattered in the fire.

Harry stared incredulously.

"And - and this _thing_, I _know_ is deadly." The purple flower joined its companions.

"And a blue weed? It's decoration for food," he finished matter-of-factly, chucking it towards the fire.

Reaching to the table, he snatched up the pink leaf and held it out. "This is what you need."

Harry stared at him skeptically. "And how, exactly, did you do that?"

"You and Hermione might be better in everything else, but I'm at the top of my class in herbology." He nodded at the leaf. "Take it."

Harry eyed it for a moment. "And what's that grass stuff? The yellow stuff?"

"It'll take me back."

Harry nodded slowly and stood up, absentmindedly running a hand through his still soaking wet hair. "Fine, Neville. Fine. I'll trust you. I'll take the leaf, and you go back and get help. That lake should still be solid ice - you can just walk across. The broom should get you out the trapdoor and," Harry paused and pulled the harmonica out of his wet robe. "This should put that bloody dog back to sleep. Try to find a teacher - preferably Se-- Snape."

"Why?" Neville asked, clearly astounded that anyone would actually _want_ Snape, of all people, to help them.

"He can be of the most help to me," Harry replied vaguely.

"But - but--" Neville stuttered. "I - I'm afraid of Snape! I can't talk to him! He'll give me detention! And - and he's a - a - a _Death Eater_!"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Neville, you've just faced a three headed dog, Devil's Snare, a water monster, and chess pieces that commit murder in the event of a loss. Why are you afraid of _Snape_?"

Neville bit his lip but didn't reply.

"Neville, I don't particularly care _who_ you get to help you, just get someone."

Neville sighed in relief. "Okay." He stared at the other boy during a long, pregnant pause before awkwardly throwing his arms around him.

"Oh, Harry! _Please be careful_!" he exclaimed. "I really don't want you to die! You're my only friend! Hermione and Draco would probably stop paying attention to me if you were gone, and--"

"Just Draco," Harry assured. "But, I'm not going to die. Come on, you have to go get help."

Neville sniffled but pulled away. He clumsily turned and picked up a blade of the grass.

"Now," said Harry, eyeing the leaf suspiciously, "are you _sure_ that this bloody pink thing is right? If it's poison I'll haunt you in the afterlife for all eternity."

Neville smiled at him, though it was strained. "I'm positive." Possibly as a show of confidence, he raised his own plant to his mouth and, grimacing, chewed and swallowed it.

After a long moment, he shuddered. Harry's eyes widened. "Poison?"

Neville shook his head, sending droplets of water flying every which way. "No - feels like ice."

"You should probably go before it wears off."

Tears sprung to Neville's eyes. "Good luck! Please be careful, Harry, I--"

"You've got to go," Harry said quickly. He smiled. "I'll see you in a little while, okay?"

Neville shuddered. "Okay."

Positioning himself, he paused briefly before taking one huge step through the fire. He didn't stop until he had reached the other side and was out of sight. Harry glanced down at the pink leaf in his hands and then at the fire pit. He wasn't really afraid, but something almost like nervous excitement was building deep in his stomach.

"Here goes nothing," he said, and he raised the leaf to his mouth. He chewed, shriveling his nose at the horrid taste, and finally swallowed it. As it turned out, ice was the appropriate description of the feeling that came with eating the plant. It felt as if all of his blood had been frozen in his veins. That, mixed with the negative-degree water that he was still soaked from head to toe in, caused him to shiver violently.

Trying his best to ignore the sensation, he forced himself to walk forward into the flames. He breathed a sigh of relief when it was confirmed that they couldn't harm him. He sped up his pace and soon found himself on the other side of the fire, in the next chamber.

As he expected, someone was already there - but it wasn't Hagrid. It wasn't even his father.

-

-

-

**Author's Note:** Dum-dum-dum! Just to clear this up, this story/eventual series isn't going to jive very much with Deathly Hallows. No offense to anybody who really liked that book, but I just . . . didn't. Sorry. So, while there may be some elements of it, don't expect OMG Snape Luvs Lily FOREVER. Ew.

Okay, other than that, the little rhyme thing pained me, as I completely butchered it, but I was just thinking that since Dumbledore doesn't really trust Snape in this story, why would he let him help guard the Stone? So, I went with some leafy stuff to replace it. :(

Thanks for sticking with me for so long!

Anna


	34. The Apple Doesn't Fall Far

Harry stood there in a state of stunned amazement for several seconds, finally saying the first thing that came to mind.

"I should have known no one could be that pathetic without faking it."

Professor Quirrell spun around, obviously not expecting anyone to have followed him.

"Mr. Riddle," he said, very slowly. Harry didn't miss the fact that his stutter was gone. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same thing of you, Professor."

"I highly doubt you're here to steal the Stone, but there must be something special about you, since you managed to get past all the obstacles."

"And there must be more to you than meets the eye as well, considering you seem to want the Stone so bad. You're not the stuttering idiot you present yourself to be."

"And you are not the innocent little boy you present yourself to be. Dumbledore watches you constantly, McGonagall always looks at you like you're some vicious animal, and Flitwick can't talk to you without practically trembling himself out of his seat. What's so bad about you, Riddle, that you have everyone so much on edge?"

Harry shrugged. "They have a bit of a problem with my father."

"And who would your father be, boy?"

"I'll give you a hint," he said, baring his teeth in a vicious smile. "Everyone is so afraid of him, they won't even speak his name."

Quirrell chortled. "Voldemort actually managed to reproduce?"

Harry frowned at the nonchalant reply, but forced out, "He did. Amazing, isn't it?" He glanced around the room, zeroing in on the Mirror of Erised, which, for some reason, seemed to have been moved from the abandoned classroom to this chamber. He tore his gaze away from the huge mirror and back to Quirrell.

"So, you were the one who let that troll in on Halloween?"

"I can't claim to have a way with trolls, but I have practice with them. You must have seen what I did to the one in that chamber back there. But while everyone else was running around looking for it, that great walking bat, Snape, who was already suspicious of me - Merlin knows why - went right to the third floor corridor to head me off." Quirrell scowled. "He didn't even know what was bloody hidden under the trapdoor. Dumbledore may present himself as a tottering old fool, boy, but you'd do good to remember that he most definitely is not. He doesn't trust Snape any farther than he could throw him."

"Severus can't help being intelligent, Quirinus. Maybe you should have been more subtle." He smiled mockingly, but his heartbeat was rapidly speeding up and his skin starting to produce sweat. It was one thing to think about facing down someone who could very well be dangerous, but it was a completely different thing to actually do it. There was something terribly wrong with Quirrell, and it had nothing to do with greed for gold or immortality. There was something else, something he couldn't put his finger on . . .

Quirrell scowled but didn't reply. He just darted his gaze towards the mirror and then back to Harry. "The Mirror of Erised. It's the key to getting the Stone, I know it is." He clicked his tongue. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this . . . but the manipulative old bastard is in London . . . I'll be long gone by the time he gets back . . ."

"So you want the Stone," Harry continued. "Do you want to be . . . rich? Immortal?" He tilted his head slightly. "Well, I guess that everyone would want that, but . . . something just seems wrong about this, Quirrell. Off. Odd."

"And why would that be?"

"The centaur. He said something about someone who'd been trying to come back to life for almost fifty years . . . And while you might be a dunderheaded nitwit, you really don't look dead." At least, he hoped it he wasn't dead. He didn't think zombies could talk, but he could very well be a vampire, what with how pale he was.

"You must be good at riddles," said Quirrell. "Figure it out."

Harry gritted his teeth against his annoyance. That was the fifth bloody time that year that his name had been punned!! His father should've just stuck with Voldemort, consequences be damned! Harry Voldemort--it had a ring to it, and there would be no more _punning_.

Quirrell was looking in the Mirror again. "I see the Stone . . . I'm presenting it to my master . . . but where. is. it?"

"Your master?" Harry pressed cautiously. "You have a - a master?" He stood there expectantly for a few seconds, but it became clear Quirrell wasn't going to reply.

"Where is it!?" the DADA Professor finally screamed at the mirror.

Harry jumped in surprise as the pendant around his neck started to heat rapidly. It wasn't like any of the other heat flashes the necklace had been having - it was just getting hotter and hotter without stopping.

Harry quickly pulled the pendant off and held it by its chain at an arm's length away from his body.

Quirrell's breath hitched at the sight of the necklace. "Where did you get that, boy?" he asked, his voice deadly.

"What?"

"WHERE DID YOU GET IT?!"

The necklace flashed so hot that it practically turned red. Harry looked between the pendant and Quirrell several times. "No," he said slowly. "That's impossible. You can't be . . ."

"Grindelwald? You think Grindelwald died when that old fool of a transfiguration teacher cast the killing curse on him?" Harry's mind was clouded with shock, but he though he heard Quirrell - or was it Grindelwald? - mutter something like 'bloody traitorous former lover' under his breath. Shaking the odd notion away, Harry stuttered:

"H- how?"

"Have you ever heard of a horcrux, child? I'm sure your father has a few of them."

Harry frantically scanned his memory for any mention of a 'horcrux', but he was drawing a blank. "I've never heard of one," he finally said. "But I'm sure you're about to tell me all about it."

"A horcrux is any object, no matter how elaborate or menial it is, in which a dark wizard can embed a piece of his soul. When someone tries to kill the wizard, it appears that he is dead, but in reality, he is floating around in something akin to spirit form."

Harry glanced down at the necklace. "You - you always wore it. So - so you put a piece of your soul in it. And when Dumbledore cursed you, your body was destroyed, but not your spirit. And you've been floating around for practically half a century, trying to find a way to get your power back, haven't you. And - and then you heard about the Sorcerer's Stone. You were too late to get the Stone from Gringotts - It had been emptied earlier that same day, by Hagrid. So you possessed Quirrell at some point to gain access into Hogwarts. You've been plotting this very moment ever since."

Quirrell - Grindelwald - clapped slowly. "Well, not this very moment, as you certainly weren't in it, but it seems that Voldemort managed to spawn an intelligent brat." His eyes flashed. "So why don't you do the smart thing and give me my horcrux?"

Harry glanced around, but he didn't see a way out of this. "Whatever." He threw the necklace at Quirrell, who snatched it out of the air. His eyes sparkled at it.

"It was a shoddy piece of crap anyway."

If Quirrell took any offense at the poorly attempted insult he didn't show it. He just continued to look at the necklace as if it was made of pure gold.

"The pendant is finally safe," he muttered, sounding rather deranged, "But I still need the Stone!!" He looked back at the mirror. "What does the mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!!"

To Harry's utter astonishment, the answer seemed to come from Quirrell's turban.

"Use the boy . . . Use the boy . . ."

_Well_, thought Harry in stunned amazement, _that explained the smell_.

Quirrell spun to face Harry.

"Yes - Riddle - come here."

Harry walked hesitantly towards the possessed professor. The man grabbed him by his arm and shoved him in front of the mirror.

"What do you see?" he demanded.

Harry wrinkled his nose at the turban's smell, which seemed more overpowering and foul than it ever had been previously. This was so different from any possession that he'd ever heard about.

He ripped his thoughts away from the oddity behind him to focus on the mirror.

Unlike the time in the abandoned classroom, this time he saw his own reflection in the mirror. His reflection smiled at him and reached its hand into its pocket, pulling out a blood red stone. It winked and put the stone back into its pocket.

As it did so, Harry felt his own pocket become weighted down with something. Somehow, Harry surmised, he'd gotten the Stone.

"Well?" Quirrell asked impatiently, "What do you see?"

"I see - I see myself – I see myself in my father's place," he said as calmly as he could. "I see me as the next Dark Lord, in command of the Death Eaters, with the world at my feet."

"He lies . . . He lies . . ." a voice hissed from Quirrell's turban.

"Riddle!" Quirrell shouted, enraged. "Be truthful! What did you see!?"

The voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him," it demanded.

"Master, master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have enough strength . . . for this . . ."

Quirrell reached up and slowly began to unwrap his turban.

A little part of Harry's brain was screaming at him to get the bloody hell away as fast as his feet could carry him, to see if that pink herb was still in effect, but the rest of his mind was way too interested in what was under that turban to even consider moving.

Finally, the material fell away and Quirrell turned around.

If Harry hadn't inherited his mother's courage, he probably would have screamed.

Quirrell seemed to have two faces - one was his normal, relatively handsome, face and the other - Harry hadn't ever seen anything so ugly on a human.

"Talk about having eyes in the back of your head," he said numbly.

"See what I have become?" it said, his voice a raspy croak. "A mere shadow of what I was. I only have corporal form when I possess another . . . Unicorn blood has strengthened me - You saw my faithful servant drinking it for me in the forest."

Harry almost wanted to gag at the thought of doing something so disgusting.

"Once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own . . . regain what I have lost to that deficient little snake of an upstart, Voldemort."

Harry glared at him and spat, "You're no Voldemort, Grindelwald. I don't recall anyone ever fearing your name."

"Cheeky little brat, aren't you?" Grindelwald's beady little eyes narrowed. "Give me the Stone in your pocket, boy," he demanded.

Harry backed up. "Why should I?" he asked.

Quirrell started walking backwards so that Grindelwald could still see him.

"Give me the Stone, boy!"

Harry discretely reached in his front pocket and grasped the stone to slip it into a pocket that was more secure.

Grindelwald stared at the slight hand movement, his eyes hardening. He might've swallowed (Harry couldn't exactly tell, as the face was rather deformed). "Riddle," he began, his voice almost nice, "Riddle – Harry, young Harry – you are a very smart boy, and very powerful – I can sense it in you. You have the potential to be so – great. Greater even than your father."

"Greater than you," snapped Harry.

Grindelwald clenched his teeth, seemingly biting back a nasty retort. He exhaled a sharp breath and began to speak again. "Harry – I've been disembodied since 1945, since he - he . . ."

"Dumbledore?"

"_Dumbledore_," hissed Grindelwald.

The pure hatred and venom in his voice chilled Harry to the bone.

"Since he betrayed me. Stabbed me in the back."

Harry arched his eyebrow, his curiosity overriding his fear for a brief moment. "That never made the history books, did it? How did he betray you?"

"He was more loyal to a sister, an invalid sister, than to me," Grindelwald hissed. "One does not heal quickly from a betrayal like that, boy."

"I know."

"No, you do not," he hissed vehemently. Grindelwald's eyes narrowed at him. "But you might, someday. I have watched Lord Voldemort's rise to power very, very closely, young Harry. It was, admittedly, fascinating, and was made even more so by Voldemort's strange obsession with immortality."

"And why are we here, again?" Harry demanded incredulously.

"I want another body, Harry, that's all. I wouldn't spare a second thought for this foolish Stone if not for that. But your father . . . he fears death, doesn't he? He thinks there is no worse fate?"

Harry was silent.

Grindelwald laughed. "How blind of him. There are many fates worse than death, many to which death would be a mercy. My current state is one of them."

Harry's eyes widened.

"I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't _feel_. I am . . . hollow. Without a physical body, one should not exist in this realm."

"Then why don't you let yourself die?" Harry snapped.

"I simply don't want to. Your father would feel the same. You see, Lord Voldemort never truly intends to die. He has been seeking immortality since before you were born, he's gone so far as to divide his soul into - seven - separate - pieces." Grindelwald tilted his head to the side, mirroring a curious animal. "So," he continued, "what use does he have for you?"

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded.

"I mean that most men want sons to continue their bloodline, to, in essence, achieve immortality through them. But, Voldemort doesn't want that. So, why are you even here?"

Harry seemed to struggle with his own tongue for a long moment. "Because I'm - I'm . . ."

"You're powerful," Grindelwald cut in. "You're very powerful. Maybe not as much as him, but you could very well prove to be an advantage in a war. He might very well win this time around, thanks to you. But then, after you've been so changed and hardened by war, trained to battle, he won't see you as an asset any longer. He'll see you as a threat. He'll kill you."

"He wouldn't do that!" shouted Harry vehemently. "He wouldn't! I'm his son!"

"And he's a dark lord! People won't even speak his name! What do you think made them that way, Harry, that terrified? He has no qualms about killing. You won't be any different than any of the hundreds – no, thousands of people who have perished because of him." Grindelwald took a step forward. "But, Harry – there's a way to avoid all of that. Just join me, Harry – give me the Stone, and join me! Together, with our combined powers, we could do anything!"

Harry swallowed, staring at the ugly creature before him. Was he telling the truth? Was his father just – using him? Was any concern he showed about him just an act? Did he not care about him in the least? Would he kill him in the end, kill him like some mudblood?

He very well might, Harry knew. But, it wasn't anything worse than Grindelwald might do once he had a body back.

Harry forced himself to smirk. "You're talking about something that might, hypothetically, happen a few decades down the line, and that's supposed to scare me into joining you? I don't think so."

"What?" demanded Grindelwald, his voice deadly.

Harry met the man's piercing gaze head on. "Just what I said. I'm not about to let a few _mildly _slick words turn me against the man who's given me everything since birth. If you want the Stone, you'll have to come and get it." He smiled arrogantly.

Grindelwald's face twisted into a hideous mask of rage and he screamed: "SEIZE HIM!!"

Quirrell turned around and charged at Harry, grabbing at his neck. But almost immediately after touching him, the man let go, shrieking.

Harry stared at him in horror as the possessed man's hands began to turn to ash.

"SEIZE HIM!!" Grindelwald screamed again. Quirrell seemed too disoriented to listen.

An idea sprung into Harry's mind. He ran up to his possessed professor and put his hands on both of the man's faces. Both mouths screamed and the flesh turned to ash, shortly followed by the rest of Quirrell's body.

Harry stumbled backwards a few feet, just as a ghost-like entity came flying from the ashes that had once been Quirrell. It flew right through him before disappearing through the fire.

Harry fell to the floor, his vision spinning. He was aware that he had very little time left before he passed out, but there was something he had to do first.

He dragged himself to the pile of black ashes and rooted through the pile of clothes that remained intact on top of them. He could vaguely hear a dog - Sabine - barking in the background, announcing the arrival of his friends and the teachers, but he didn't stop his search.

He dug through the ashes, which stuck to his hands and turned them a sickening black color, finally finding what he was looking for - the Pendant of Lord Grindelwald.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief and rolled away from the pile of ashes, his vision still spinning.

After lying there for a few seconds, fighting to stay conscious, he finally heard Hermione's loud shrieking of his name, Draco's unusually stressed drawl, and Neville's wails. McGonagall's voice also drifted into the room, and Harry winced despite himself.

A cold, wet nose sniffed his face, followed by an even wetter tongue, which was pulled away suddenly.

"Harry?!"

Even with his vision almost useless, Harry could still recognize Severus's voice.

"Sev - er - us," he gasped out quietly, "Sev - erus . . ."

"It's okay, Harry. We're going to get you to the hospital wing--"

"It's a -a horcrux, Sev-er-us," he croaked out, still in a low voice. "It's Grindelwald's horcrux."

"What? Harry, you're talking nonsense--"

"A horcrux, Severus." Harry pushed the necklace into Severus' hands. "It's Grindelwald's **horcrux**. Get - rid - of - it."

Severus's panicked black eyes was the last thing he could make out before he faded into welcome blackness.

-

-

-

**Author's Note:** Only a few more chapters! I'm sorry if everyone was expecting someone different than Quirrell, but I just couldn't think of anyone else for Grindelwald to be possessing.

I'm vaugely considering reworking some of the earlier chapters of this story (making them longer, flow better) etc, but its just a thought.

So, thank you, everyone, for reviewing!!

Anna


	35. More Terrifying Than Life

Harry cracked open an eye, only to shut it again quickly. The room he was in was very bright, and it didn't help his pounding head any.

"Harry?"

This time Harry snapped both of his eyes open. Memories came flooding back to him. He shot up in bed. "Quirrell - Grindelwald - the Stone--"

Several sets of hands pushed him back down. "Calm down, calm down," Hermione's voice soothed. "Quirrell is - dead - gone - turned to ash."

Harry's eyes raked first over his Ravenclaw friend, and then moved to Neville, who seemed to be a wrong word away from bursting into tears. In fact, the whole scene might not have been that odd if not for Draco's stressed expression, which looked out of place on his usually stony face.

"Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital wing." Harry vaguely took in the plain white beds and the sterile environment. It looked rather like St. Mungo's, from what he could remember from his one visit there at the age of six, thanks to a broken arm. He still couldn't clearly recall if Draco had pushed him out of that tree or not, so he surmised he must've sustained a concussion the healers hadn't found. _Incompetence . . ._

Frowning slightly at his wondering thoughts, he reigned his mind back in and opened his mouth.

"What happened? I remember - The last thing I remember is Severus standing over me--"

"Severus?" Hermione asked, an eyebrow raised. "Since when does anyone call Professor Snape 'Severus'?"

Harry licked his lips nervously. "He's a--an old friend of my father. I've known him since I was little."

If Neville's eyes got any wider they might've popped out of his skull. "But--but he's a--a--a--"

"A professor," Harry cut in lamely. How he wished he had kept Severus's . . . alliances . . . a secret. It would come back to bite him, most likely sooner rather than later, what with Neville and his blathering. Maybe he should obliviate him? But, he'd have to learn _how_ first.

"Yes, a professor. Maybe that's why I'm doing so well in his class? Eh, anyway, I remember him - and--"

"After Neville crossed back through the fire, Draco and I were waking up," Hermione cut in eagerly. "We went to the dungeons, but Professor Snape wasn't there, so next we went to the staff room. Turns out he and Sabine were having tea along with Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch." Hermione paused to take a deep breath - she had rambled all of that without exhaling once.

She continued: "At first, none of them really believed us, not even Professor Snape. McGonagall looked suspicious, though."

Harry rolled his eyes. Not a surprise there.

"Sabine seemed to have more sense than the entire lot of them - she took off towards the third floor corridor as soon as Hermione was finished with her story."

"Animals - especially magical ones like Sabine - have a sixth sense about those types of things," Neville added.

Hermione nodded her agreement but went on with her story. "We ended up having to tell them everything we knew about the Stone and Nicolas Flamel."

"We even described in great detail every single obstacle that we had to go through to get to the last chamber," Draco added. "Not to mention we were soaking wet. Idiots, the bunch of them."

"Come now, Draco, it wasn't that bad. But yes, they were a little slow in the uptake. But finally they believed us and we all went back to the third floor corridor." Hermione paused. A strange look passed over her face. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"McGonagall kept muttering something about how she was sure that your father told you to . . . steal the Stone for him. What'd she mean?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure," he lied. The Slytherin glanced at her. "I guess some of the things my father does are slightly . . . shady, you could say, but the man doesn't even trust me to stay home alone without a house elf there to watch me! I doubt he would think me competent enough to get past a three-headed dog!"

"Underestimates you," Draco murmured. Neville nodded fervently in agreement.

"What happened next?"

"We got past Fluffy via the harmonica--"

"_Fluffy_?" asked Harry, incredulous.

"Oh, yes. That's the Cerberus's name."

"Who the hell names a three-headed dog 'Fluffy'?"

"I think it belongs to Hagrid. He won it down at the pub."

"Figures," Harry muttered.

"So once we were past Fluffy, the Devil's Snare was gone and all we had to do was cast a charm to soften the ground below the trapdoor."

"That crazy dog didn't wait before she jumped," said Draco. "We had to stop for a few minutes to heal her broken leg."

Harry winced in sympathy. "Poor Sabine."

"And to think," Draco continued, "that there are people who say that dogs are actually _intelligent_."

Hermione slapped his upper arm roughly. "Sabine _is_ intelligent, as is any dog. She was just in a rush, is all."

Shifting and clearing her throat, she continued: "It was really easy after that. The key wasn't difficult to catch at all, since both its wings were rather crunched up, and the underground lake was still an ice cube, so all we had to do was walk across."

"How'd you get past the fire?"

"Professor Snape. He had a few vials of a potion that he'd been brewing earlier that day for the Ministry Of Magic's Fire Suppression and Inflammatory Chemicals Collection Agency. Nice coincidence, eh?"

Harry nodded bemusedly. "The stars were aligned in our favor . . ."

"The dog didn't wait again. Jumped over the fire pit before Severus could even hand us the potion bottles. I'm surprised she didn't catch flame."

"By the time we got there, all we found was a pile of ashes with Quirrell's clothes on top. You were lying a few feet away, still soaking wet. Sabine was already licking your face. Professor Snape rushed up to you and it looked like you said something to him."

"I fainted after that, right?" He frowned immediately after the sentence came out of his mouth. _Fainted_? Since when did he do something so pathetically weak as _fainting_? His father would be ashamed.

Hermione nodded. "We brought you back to the hospital wing. You were pretty scratched up. Madam Pomfrey said that you had a bit of frostbite in your toes."

Harry's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Frostbite?"

Hermione nodded. "From being stuck in the ice, I guess."

"But--have I lost any toes?" he demanded, wiggling his foot.

"No! She healed it up pretty quickly, in fact. She also said that your temperature was way too low. Seems like the water got to you worse than anything else."

"I still don't know how to swim," he said dejectedly.

Draco snickered.

"But what really happened, Harry? I don't understand."

Harry leaned back and glanced around the room once again. The bedside tables were cluttered with boxes of candy and the occasional vase of flowers, and he frowned. "Who sent all of this?"

"The Slytherins. And the Ravenclaws. And some of the braver Hufflepuffs, but there weren't many of those," said Draco, rolling his eyes. Neville frowned.

Harry pulled a giftwrapped bag of chocolate frogs into his lap and pulled the small card off of it. "'To Harry, from Pansy. I hope you get well soon; I never liked Quirrell anyway.'" He smiled grimly. "Nice to know the school is in the dark about what happened."

"Harry!" shouted Hermione. "You're avoiding the question! What happened with Quirrell?!"

"It was Grindelwald," he said simply.

"Grindelwald? What are you talking about? Dumbledore defeated him in 1945!"

"No. He lived. And to think Dumbledore made his career on that . . ."

"How?" she cut in, her face intense.

"He made something called a 'horcrux'. It's an object that you use as a vessel for a piece of your soul."

"And to kill someone," Hermione began, her voice awed, "You have to destroy their soul. So if part of the soul isn't housed in the body--"

"You don't die. You float around like a spirit until you can regain corporal form."

"Which could be achieved through the Sorcerer's Stone," Draco finished.

Harry nodded.

"So - Grindelwald was possessing Quirrell?"

"Did you ever wonder why our dear DADA professor kept that turban on all the time?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "You don't mean . . ."

"The man had two bloody faces. And I'd thought I couldn't be shocked after I saw one of those Lethifolds eat someone."

"A Lethifold?" Neville whimpered out.

"Don't worry, Neville. They only live in tropical areas."

"Where were you when you saw it?"

"America."

"America isn't tropical, Harry."

"Puerto Rico is."

"Puerto Rico is considered America?"

"It's a _territory_."

"But wait. I have another question."

"Fire away, 'Mione. I only have a pounding headache."

"Don't call me 'Mione," she said indignantly, before clearing her throat and continuing. "What was Grindelwald's horcrux?"

"What do you _think_? The _necklace_."

"That explains it, then," Neville muttered.

"Explains what?"

"Why everyone who got a hold of it died. It was evil." The chubby boy shivered despite himself.

"True," said Harry, shrugging.

"But where is it now?"

"Destroyed." _I hope,_ he mentally added. "Don't worry. Grindelwald is finally, truly, dead."

"And what happened to Quirrell? Why'd he turn to ash?"

Harry paused. He hadn't thought of that. Why did Quirrell turn to ash when he touched him?

"I don't know," he finally replied. "It happened when he touched me."

They were awkwardly silent after that, and had just begun perfecting the art of avoiding each other's gazes when the door creaked open.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, sir," exclaimed Hermione, jumping out of her seat.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Even the Death Eaters weren't that bad with _Voldemort_ . . . Well, on second thought, they _were_, but it was only because of fear of torture.

"Miss Granger," he replied nodding. "Mister Malfoy, Mister Longbottom. And Mister Riddle--I see you've finally awoken. It's been three days--we were getting worried."

"I'm sure you were," muttered Harry.

Dumbledore turned to his friends. "It's almost dinnertime. Why don't you three run along before you're late?"

"Yes, sir," said Hermione reluctantly. She leaned across the bed and wrapped her arms around Harry in a quick hug.

"Bye, Harry!"

The words were echoed by the two boys, and they all slipped out the door.

"Well, Mister Riddle, I must say you did something incredibly impressive."

"Do you know that Grindelwald didn't die?" Harry cut in bluntly. "Because he didn't. He survived your duel because he had a--"

"Horcrux, yes." Dumbledore shook his head and clicked his tongue. "The darkest magic. To trade humanity for immortality. Human beings should not exist forever, young Harry. Death is as natural as birth."

Harry smiled lazily. "But what about your friend? Nicolas? He's six hundred years old, isn't he? And you're over one hundred. No muggle lives that long; not even that many wizards do."

Dumbledore smiled widely. "You know about Nicolas Flamel? My boy, I _am_ impressed."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Dumbledore sighed. "The Stone was destroyed in your . . . conflict . . . with Professor Quirrell. There's no trace of it. And, my boy, that is for the best. Unlimited life and unlimited wealth . . . It should not exist."

"Don't want my father getting a hold of it, do you?"

Dumbledore smirked. "I'm sure Voldemort will find another way to fulfill his obsession with everlasting life, Mister Riddle. I'm sure he will. He was a bright boy, you know. Tom Marvolo Riddle. You quite remind me of him, in some ways."

Harry smiled toothily. "Do I scare you?"

"No."

"Did he?"

"Yes. Yes, he did."

Harry frowned, and was silent for a moment. "Are Flamel and his wife going to . . . die?" he asked hesitantly.

The old Headmaster smiled gently. "Yes, Harry, they are. But, for them, it isn't so much death--it's more like . . . going to bed after a very, _very_ long day. And everyone needs rest."

Harry's frown deepened.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Why are people so _terrified_ of death? Is it any scarier than life?"

"Most people would say so."

"It's simply the next great adventure, my boy. The next great adventure."

Patting his knee through the cover, Dumbledore stood. "Well, I'm afraid it is, truly, dinner time. I must be going. Madam Pomfrey will more than likely let you go back to your dorm sometime tomorrow."

He moved to the door, but paused. "Ah, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit flavored one, and I'm afraid I've been off of them ever since."

Harry tilted his head. "Bertie Bott was already making them in the stone age?"

Dumbledore chortled and popped one of the candies into his mouth. He shuddered. "Ear wax."

Harry grimaced, and Dumbledore continued on his way to the door.

"Headmaster?"

Dumbledore paused and looked over his shoulder questioningly. "Yes, Mister Riddle?"

"How well did you _know_ Grindelwald, anyway?"

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment before chuckling. "Precocious child, so precocious."

He left.

-

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**Author's Note**: Yay! Only like, three or four more chapters left! Dear Voldie-mort is going to make an appearance in the next chapter, and there might be a surprise cameo, though not in the way you might think. And yes, Dumbledore was oddly nice in this chapter, I know. And I just couldn't resist the whole Dumbledore/Grindelwald thing.

So, thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!

Anna


	36. Portrait Of A Mother

"He's healing up quite nicely, milord."

"I don't care how he's _healing up_," hissed Voldemort, his red eyes flashing.

Severus Snape flinched, though he supposed he should've been expecting such an outburst all along. Voldemort never reacted well to bad news, and had, on occasion, been known to torture the messenger.

However, that didn't seem to be the case this time, as instead of drawing his wand or doing anything equally as threatening, Voldemort took a large swig of brandy from the snifter in his hand and paced back and forth in front of the fire, which crackled in the marble hearth.

"And the Stone was _destroyed_?" he demanded, digging his nails into the glass.

"I'm afraid so. It seems as though Lily Evans's sacrifice all those years ago had more of an effect than anyone might've thought. When Harry touched Quirrell, or visa versa, Quirrell's skin turned to ash. He eventually . . . burned away."

"Blood protection?" said Riddle incredulously. "When I killed the mudblood it triggered blood protection, of all things?"

"It seems as though she intensely did not want you to have your son, milord."

"Why have I never noticed it before?"

Severus sighed. "Well, you've never harmed him, not physically, or with a spell. That's what it protects against."

"So, when Grindelwald--" Riddle paused, shook his head in disbelief, and took another drink. "--_Grindelwald_ attempted to kill Harry to get the Stone, he was killed himself. And the Stone was destroyed as a result." He gave a long suffering sigh and emptied his glass.

There came an angry noise from one of the portraits on the wall, which was followed by a piercing voice. "Is that _all_ you can think about, Tom? The Stone?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes and ground his teeth. "Do you have something to say, Mother?"

Merope Gaunt's unattractive face contorted angrily. "Well, _Tom_, Harry _is_ your son. Perhaps you should be more concerned about him than a magical _Stone_."

"You heard Severus," he bit out. "He'll recover."

"He was almost killed by a Dark Lord!" She paused. "Who was supposedly long dead, but I do believe that is beside the point. What _is_ the point is that, while the quest for immortality and the complete domination of the wizarding world is a perfectly fine endeavor, Harry should come first."

"Do shut up, Mother. Why don't you go and visit Salazar Slytherin's portrait? He likes you."

"I hardly like him."

"You're his thirty two times great granddaughter, you _should_ like him. And where did you learn all of these large words I hear you using? When I first put you up on that wall you could barely use your verbs in the correct tenses."

"I've been listening to you for almost fifteen years. I could practically write a novel by now. And _don't_ insult my upbringings, boy!"

"Do you want me to set you on fire?" Tom demanded, pulling his wand out of his robes and waving it at her threateningly.

Merope jerked back and crossed her skinny arms over her upper body, which was clothed in a Slytherin green dress. Severus, however, got the impression that Mrs. Riddle had never worn anything that nice in life, and that the painter had taken some artistic license.

Flipping her lank hair over her shoulder, Merope huffed as only a teenage girl could and exited the portrait without a further word.

Voldemort slowly put his wand away and sunk into the nearest chair. "Why did I ever have a portrait of her made?" Shaking his head, he sighed. "The Stone is gone. It's a disappointment, but even that is infinitely _better_ than having Grindelwald get his hands on it. Then we might've been facing a war with not only Dumbledore, but with another Dark Lord. I suppose I'll have to thank Harry."

Severus shrugged. "Well, he did put himself in needless danger, and I'm surprised that Slytherin isn't in negative points as a result. If Poppy Pomfrey hadn't forced her to leave, I think McGonagall would've given him a talking down while he was barely conscious."

Voldemort grimaced. "Minerva McGonagall. It doesn't seem as though she's changed any since 1943. She loved to patrol the halls in the middle of the night once she became a prefect. I don't think she slept. They used to call her 'Minnie', you know." He unconsciously pressed his tongue into his eyetooth for a moment before continuing. "Well, it seems as though my plans will have to change. Now that the Stone is gone, it is no longer a factor." He paused and glanced at Severus. "The horcrux?"

Almost reverently, Snape reached into his robe and withdrew the pendant by its chain. He gently dropped it into Voldemort's palm.

"Grindelwald's Pendant," he said appreciatively, turning it over in his hands. "I've read about it. It's Czechoslovakian in origin, isn't it? Created in the early 1900s? By a witch doctor? Or was it a gypsy? Nevertheless, how did Harry end up with it?"

"He never said. You--you _do_ know how to destroy it, milord, don't you?"

"Of course," he snapped, his teeth clanking.

Snape resisted cringing. Recent events had seemingly taken some of his better senses, such as the one that reminded him to _never_ question Voldemort.

"Its quite difficult, but possible," the Dark Lord continued, his voice calmer. He frowned. "It's a shame. I wouldn't have minded owning this. But, Grindelwald must be destroyed. Right now he's probably floating about in some alleyway feeling sorry for himself, but it won't be long before he starts plotting again."

Severus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Milord . . ." he began hesitantly, "I know that what you say is true, but it makes me worry . . ."

"Worry?" he repeated, his scarlet eyes boring into Severus's.

Severus shifted again. "What if . . ." He paused, and Voldemort looked down at the Pendant.

Lord Voldemort continued: "What if this isn't Grindelwald's only horcrux?"

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**Author's Note:** And we're back to the stupidly short chapters. Sorry :( I tried to make this scene as long as I could but it didn't go so well. Oh, and yes, I included Merope Gaunt! I'm not sure if she could've actually been made into a portrait, but for the sake of my story lets just say she could be. And I call her a teenager, as she was about nineteen when she died.

Hmm, just when I thought this story was almost over I decided to add a few more chapters. Oh, well. I've been doing odd things lately, like deciding I really liked Metal Gear despite there being no survival horror in it whatsoever. So, yeah. Odd.

Oh, and the chapter title was so subtle of me. **sarcasm, sarcasm**

Thanks so much for all the reviews!!

Anna


	37. Heritage

"Blood protection," Dumbledore hissed out, digging his nails into the edge of his desk. "How does the boy have _blood protection_ of all things?"

On his perch, Fawkes squawked indignantly at the anger he sensed in the room, ruffled his feathers, and turned to face the wall.

"Someone would have had to have . . . died for him, out of love," McGonagall answered, wildly motioning with her hands. Seemingly realizing that she was in danger of hitting something, she stilled her arms and laced her fingers together in her lap.

"But _who_? Who died for him?"

The transfigurations professor shook her head and fidgeted with her teacup. "Anyone _could_ have. A very loyal Death Eater, maybe, one like Bellatrix Lestrange. Things were very dangerous during 1980, for both sides."

"That would have been out of loyalty," Dumbledore snapped. "Not love."

"His mother, then," she countered after a moment. "He said she died. Maybe she . . . sacrificed herself for him . . . out of love. With Voldemort as his father, who knows what may have happened? We need to know who she is. But, since the boy isn't talking, I'm not sure how we can go about finding out."

Dumbledore smiled a slow, sly smile, one that most definitely did not belong on a former Gryffindor.

"Oh, Minerva, I believe we can find out who Mr. Riddle's mother is, and quite easily. He won't even know we know." It was left unsaid that Dumbledore already had a very good idea as to who, exactly, had given birth to Harry Morfin Riddle. There were too many coincidences for him to _not_ notice. The same birthday, the same first name, the same _eyes_. Now evidence that whoever she was had been noble enough to sacrifice herself. It was a wonder that no one else seemed to have figured it out.

McGonagall looked confused. "How? A spell wouldn't--"

The headmaster opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small jar which contained several jet black hairs.

"Severus assigned a potion that required the brewer's own hair. Quite difficult for the first years, if I recall. There were several exploding cauldrons. In the chaos of everything, Severus had to evacuate the classroom to take some students to the hospital wing and didn't manage to clean up until much later. I slipped in and grabbed a sample of Mr. Riddle's hair." Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "And with this, all it takes is a rather simple spell to determine whose son he is. It was used extensively after the war with Grindelwald to return unidentified children to their parents. It should work perfectly."

Dumbledore twirled the jar around in his fingers. Despite there being enough evidence for a rationally thinking person to come to the same conclusion he had about Riddle's heritage, he was sure that someone like Sirius Black would refuse to believe it. The man did have such a way of missing the obvious, especially when it came to his friends. To Black, Lily Potter was a saint, and believing this theory would shatter that image irrevocably.

"Yes, I suppose that would work," she said slowly. "Though, even then, it may not help us very much."

"Possibly not. Possibly so." Dumbledore paused. "Does Mister Longbottom know that he is currently friends with the son of the man who is responsible for his parents' insanity?" The question had formed in his mind from seemingly nowhere, and it was out of his mouth before he knew it.

McGonagall was shaking her head. "I hardly think so. They certainly wouldn't be as . . . _chummy_ . . . would they?"

"No," he said slowly. "No, I suppose not."

After another minute of silence, Dumbledore spoke. "Arrange an Order meeting, for sometime soon. At Grimmauld Place. Sirius and Remus are living there, currently, aren't they?"

McGonagall nodded. "They had a rather disgusting insect infestation at their usual home."

"Insects or Walburga Black's portrait? I'm not sure which I'd choose."

Minerva laughed lightly, and Dumbledore nodded at her to leave.

After the door shut, he frowned and looked intently back down at jar.

"You are such a riddle, Mr. Riddle. One that I intend to solve."

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**Author's Note:** Just 706 words? Come on, I edited and reedited this chapter to make it longer! Though, this was a chapter I wrote back a long time ago, not one of the newer, longer ones. :( Though, seriously, I'm only halfway done with the next chapter and its double this length. Seriously. And Ron Weasley and Poppy Pomfrey are in it. Yeah. :)

And, yes, is anyone getting a Sirius/Remus vibe here? But, don't worry if you don't like it, they're not appearing anytime soon, and I'm not particurally fond of Sirius Black. He strikes me as an arrogant bully. Sorry if you like him.

Oh, and as for Dumbledore--I don't think he's evil, not like, Voldemort evil, like he's not going to go and torture or murder someone, but I think he's got to be rather cunning and cut throat if he's the only wizard Voldemort feared.

(runs of to continue reading 'World War Z')

Anna


	38. Posturing Is Key

"Now, Mister Riddle," said Poppy Pomfrey solicitously, "don't overexert yourself, and try as hard as you can to avoid stubbing your toes."

Harry eyed his bare feet with distaste. "I thought you'd healed it."

"I did, but frostbite is a fairly severe thing, even though you didn't get the worst of it. It was just superficial, not deep. But, even then, those remaining little ice crystals in your skin will damage the tissue surrounding it if they're jarred. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Harry made a noise of repulsion deep in his throat. "Can I wiggle them?"

"I don't see any reason why you couldn't, but just slightly." Pomfrey flitted around the room, collecting potions to give to him and frowning at the abundance of candy on the bedside tables. "You should keep it warm--you know how chilly it is in this castle, even in the summer--but don't wrap it too tight. We want the blood circulating, don't we?"

"You're the mediwitch."

"Yes, I am. And you'd do well to listen to me when I say that you shouldn't eat all of this candy, but I doubt you will. You're too much like your parents--stubborn, the both of them."

Harry's eyes widened, and his shoulders stiffened. "Excuse me?"

Pomfrey held up a vial of purple liquid. "Take this tonight before you get into bed. It will help--"

"What did you say about my--my _parents_?"

"I said that you are like them in many respects, stubbornness, disobedience and impertinence being just three of them. Now, this red one you should take with your next meal--"

"But how could you possibly know--?"

"I remember Tom Riddle quite well, young man. I was new here then, but he broke his leg one day during quidditch and was laid up for awhile. Quite a charming boy, if I recall correctly." She sighed and pursed her lips. "A wolf in sheep's clothing, if I may borrow the muggle expression."

Harry stared at her, too shocked to blink. "So, you know that he's . . .?"

"You-Know-Who? Of course I do. I saw him briefly during the First War, though hopefully I'll never be in that position again. Quite terrifying. This should be taken tomorrow morning--"

"But my mother?" he cut in anxiously. "No one--"

"You have Lily Evans's eyes, without a doubt. I can't believe Minerva or Filius haven't noticed, but I suppose that what one doesn't want to see will not be seen."

"Wouldn't you not want to see?" he asked, oddly awkward. Harry was usually smooth in most situations, or as smooth as an eleven year old could be. Still, the past days had left him more than a little off balance, and discussing his parents was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Why shouldn't I? I can't change what happened so many years ago. Lily is dead, and I'm sorry to say that its her own fault. She was a nice girl, but not particularly outstanding.

"On the other hand, your father--if I may be so blunt, Mister Riddle--is a monster. He's killed so many, in the name of what? Blood purity? When he himself could be labeled a "mudblood", excuse the term? When the mother of his heir is of muggle parents? It is possibly the most hypocritical crusade I have _ever_ heard of."

"Oi, why don't you just sod--" began Harry angrily, but Pomfrey interrupted him.

"Still, though, I suppose a Dark Lord, or any sort of 'politician', has to have a platform. Slytherin to the core, he is, don't you think?"

Harry sniffed. "Proudly."

Pomfrey smiled slightly and continued. "However, I can hardly say that You-Know-Who is any less moral than, shall we say, Grindelwald. His campaign has simply been more successful."

"And me?"

"I'm rather neutral when it comes to you. I can't say I like you--"

"Thanks," he muttered.

"--but I don't hate you, either. All I want is for you to take this potion with breakfast, and then this other one as soon as you--"

* * *

By the time Madam Pomfrey had finished explaining the proper application and doses of each and every vial of potion she prescribed him, it was nine o'clock in the evening and the rest of the students had retreated to their respective common rooms.

Harry hurried through the halls, his limping gate and socked feet combing to make swishy padded noises against the stone floor. It was so unlike the usual, slightly imposing click-click of his boot soles that he felt oddly out of place, and quickened his pace.

All he wanted was to get back to his dorm, choke down the potions Pomfrey had forced on him, and sleep. Yes, crawling in between the covers of his own bed (which was infinitely more comfortable than those in the hospital wing) and resting his head on his fluffy feather pillow was possibly more appealing than anything to him at the moment.

He'd never been _overweight_, but he'd never been one to actually _exercise_, and supposed he was slightly soft around the edges as a result. That was perfectly fine, usually, but facing down a villain and contracting mild frostbite had drained his energy. It may have been more emotional than physical, even, but he didn't care to wander down that train of thought.

All he wanted was to rest, and forget about Grindelwald and his ugly, deformed face.

Though, upon turning a corner and stopping only several centimeters short of Ronald Weasley, he knew that it was going to be awhile before he reached his dorm.

Forcing his mouth to contort into an arrogant, holier-than-thou smirk, he tilted his head up slightly, straightened his back, and leaned slightly into Weasley's personal space, just enough to make him uncomfortable, and effect the feeling of a noble looking down at a peasant.

Which, he supposed, given the Weasleys' unfortunate financial state, wasn't that bad of a metaphor.

"Weasley," he said, drawing out the syllables of the name as best he could. Draco was better at projecting arrogance and superior breeding through his voice, because while the Riddles had plenty of the former, they were more than lacking in the latter, as Pomfrey had so kindly pointed out. "Fancy meeting you here."

Weasley's eyes slowly took in Harry's unusually ruffled appearance, stopping to linger at his shoeless feet.

Harry pressed on. "Where's Finnigan? I thought you couldn't even breathe without him telling you to."

Ron's face reddened in anger. "Where's Malfoy and Granger?" he demanded. "I thought you were too scared to go anywhere without your brawn and your brains!"

Harry's smirk didn't falter. "Ah, you've finally learned that I am not, in fact, a lackey, but the one in _command_ of them. It only took, what? Ten months? Bravo, Weasley. Or, may I call you 'Ronald'?"

Weasley gritted his teeth. "No, you _may_ **not**, _Harold_!"

Harry shook his head. "No, not 'Harold'. Or 'Harrison'. Or 'Henry' or 'Harlow'. Just plain Harry, Ronald. My mother was obviously an uncreative woman."

Weasley clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. "What have you done, Riddle? What's the school been talking about? Did you kill Quirrell?"

Harry couldn't summon a condescending laugh, and settled for an inelegant snort. "Quirrell . . ." He paused and tried to arrange a suitable sentence. "Quirrell was . . . already dead."

"Already dead?" demanded Weasley, his red eyebrows practically touching his equally red hair. "What are you on about, Riddle?"

"Let's just say . . . Quirrell wasn't Quirrell. He was someone else."

Weasley frowned. "He was using a--a fake name?"

"No, idiot. He _was_ Quirrell but not _himself_."

Weasley's face reddened in confused anger, and Harry congratulated himself. For his first go at talking cryptically, he personally thought that he had done fairly well.

"It's almost curfew," said Harry, roughly pushing past Weasley. "And I'm hardly going to get a detention for loitering around answering your _redundant, pointless, dunderheaded _questions. Good evening."

With a parting glance over his shoulder, he disappeared down the long staircase into the dungeons.

* * *

His arrival in the Slytherin Common Room was met with a sudden, awkward silence, though it quickly dissolved into a plethora of voices spewing greetings. Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Blaise Zabini, and a hundred other Death Eater children rushed him, simpering pathetically and exhibiting their usual sycophantism.

Harry smiled and nodded appropriately at the rather fake-sounding buckets of concern being poured over him and slipped through the middle of the rapidly enlarging crowd of students. He darted through the door leading to the dorm rooms and continued down the long, drafty corridor.

Upon reaching the portrait that led to his and Draco's room, he sighed in relief and pressed his shoulder against the wall for support.

"Aglaophotis."

The blond woman in the portrait smirked at him mischievously. "Had a little fun, did we, Riddle?"

"Yes," he said warily, eyeing the painting. The woman's name was 'Amelia' something-or-other, but he wasn't sure what she had done to warrant being a Hogwarts portrait. She seemed wealthy enough, as she was attired in a fine blue dress that would've been insensible to wear to anything short of a ballroom dance. Her hair was lank, a rudimentary blond in color. Her face was freckled, and her eyes brown. She might've been considered 'cute', in a way, but not truly beautiful.

Harry had never seen her in a book, though at the moment, he didn't particularly care to ask her any questions that might offer any explanations. He wanted to sleep.

"How nice. Life becomes so monotonous without having a little fun, don't you think? I never killed a professor, true, but I did pester Slytherin so much that he gave me detentions for the rest of the year--"

"Excuse me, but who are you again?" he cut in. Then he hastily added, "And I didn't kill Quirrell."

Her smirk deepened. "Of course you didn't." She was humoring him, and Harry bristled.

"But, I suppose we haven't been properly introduced, have we? I am Amelia Debrom. Amelia Maria Jane Beatrix Debrom, to include middle names, but I always deplored mine. What's your's?"

". . . Morfin . . ." he said bemusedly.

"Morfin? Harry Morfin." She made a face. "It has a ring to it, I suppose, but it's horrid."

". . . Thanks . . ."

"And if you only have one, which I hear is the style nowadays, it really should be something _good, _or if you have several they should all be names that are mediocre enough on their own to be very good together. I would never forgive my parents for burdening me with something like _Morfin_, though I suppose we're both luckier than my older sister--her _first _name was Agrippina, which made for some _very_ off color jokes, and her middle--"

"What do you know about my parents?" Harry cut in, cringing back defensively.

Amelia blinked dumbly. "Just short of nothing, I'm afraid. _Should_ I know about them? Were they Slytherins at one point? I'm afraid I'm rather new to the dungeons--I spent the 1960s in the--"

"No," he said quickly. "No, there's nothing to know. Could you just let me in?"

"What's the password?"

"I already said it!"

"I didn't hear you," she singsonged, her voice painfully out of tune.

Harry's breath hissed through his clenched teeth. "Aglaophotis!"

With an infuriating smirk, Amelia let the portrait open, and Harry wordlessly stomped inside. His continued limping slightly ruined the dramatic effect, but he didn't take notice.

Struggling over to the nearest of the two beds (Draco's, as it was), he let the potion vials fall from his hands. He was tempted to just go to bed, but the rather disgusting thoughts of tissue being damaged by icicles in his skin moved him into action.

Tediously sorting through the potions, he identified the ones he was supposed to take and poured them into his mouth one at a time. They burned down his throat and their taste vaguely resembled some sort of garbage or bile, but he was proud of the fact that he only gagged slightly.

The empty vials slid out of his hands and onto the comforter, and he staggered back towards his own bed.

Not bothering to change into pajamas, he slipped under the covers and, within a matter of minutes, fell into a deep sleep.

He dreamed of family.

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**Author's Note:** Ah, Madam Pomfrey knows more than she was letting on, apparently. If you can't tell, I'm not exactly a fan of Lily's. I mean, I don't hate her. I just . . . don't particurally like her, either.

Amelia is a completely insignificant original character who will probably never appear again, and was strictly there for some comic effect. Aglaophotis is a substance in occultism, though its best known for its role in the Silent Hill series. I couldn't help myself--I had to include a reference.

And we're not even that close to the end of the story yet, how nice.

Anna


	39. Any Means

"—which is so unfair, I mean, McGonagall must've been giving them points on the sly for them to be that far ahead, it's just impossible that they have that many with how idiotic the lot of them are—"

Harry nodded in appeasement but didn't look up from his book. It was usually only a title read by muggles, which didn't give it very many points in his mind, but Dante Alighieri had been a wizard. Why he had chosen to write about the muggle concepts of the afterlife was a complete mystery, and the fact that Harry couldn't make sense of the majority of it was quickly turning him off.

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

Harry looked up and found Hermione smiling widely at him, a chocolate frog halfway to her mouth. She was on the floor, leaning against the side of Draco's bed and eating some of the treats leftover from Harry's stay in the hospital wing. In front of her was a book he'd never heard of called "Brave New World". Surprisingly, it seemed less complicated than what he was reading, but he wasn't in the least bit shocked that she'd already read _Inferno_ herself.

He glanced back at the book. "You've read this, haven't you?" he asked rhetorically.

She nodded vigorously. "It's amazing."

"You understand it?" he demanded.

She nodded again. "It's quite simple."

He scanned over the page again and realized with some embarrassment that he'd been rereading it for about ten minutes and still hadn't really gotten anything out of it.

"It's not. I mean, good muggle god, it's written in poem format."

She rolled her eyes. "So? It starts out with Dante—"

"Oh, and that's another thing," he cut in, "who puts themselves in a story? That's narcissistic, don't you think?"

"—and now they're going break our winning streak—is anyone even listening to me?"

Neither Harry nor Hermione were even paying attention to Draco anymore. He'd been on about Gryffindor winning the House Cup for the past hour, and it was getting old. Of course it rubbed Harry the wrong way, but what the hell could he actually do about it now? Classes were over, there weren't any points to be won.

"—with Dante walking in the woods, which is probably a metaphor for him contemplating suicide."

Harry stared at her. "And how do you figure that?"

"Then, Virgil comes to him," she continued, with the most dramatic flair he'd ever seen from her, "to lead him back to the light, away from the suicidal thoughts."

"And he does that through a trip to hell? You know, I'd think going to hell would actually hurt your mental state more than help it."

"Why are we talking about hell?" Draco cut in loudly. "We have a bigger problem, if you haven't noticed. Like, I don't know, those damned Gryffindors winning the House Cup? Doesn't it matter anymore?"

Harry frowned and glanced back at the book. He was on what he assumed to be chapter two, but if he didn't get moving it would take him a year to finish it. "Ah, yeah, Draco, of course it is, but as I believe I've told you several times before, there's nothing I can do. Sorry. So, tell me, Hermione, this Charon guy is like, the Ferryman, right? Who you have to pay to get across the river Styx?"

"Right," she said, ignoring Draco's annoyed growl. "But, Dante calls the river Acheron."

"Right . . ."

Frustrated beyond belief, Draco jumped up and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"But, wait, who the hell is Virgil again? And why the hell does he care about Dante? Does he have a mancrush on him or something?"

* * *

Draco sat in the Great Hall, eating his lunch mechanically. It was only two days before the end of the year, and Gryffindor was a hundred points ahead of Slytherin. Not that many, in the scheme of things, but right now it seemed like infinity. And as much as he hated to admit it, Harry was right—no teacher actually gave out points after the final exams, it was like an unwritten rule. So, as humiliating as it was, they were going to lose . . . to Gryffindor. Those idiots. As if they could destroy a dark lord. In fact, that in and of itself should've gotten Slytherin a few hundred points—risking their lives to save the world was worth something, wasn't it?

But, no.

He glanced across the hall and managed to find Weasley among the crowded Gryffindor table. His lackeys Finnigan and Thomas sat on either side of him, listening intently to whatever he was saying as if it was actually intelligent.

Draco stared, squinted, and slowly smiled as something completely ingenious began to take form in his mind. Taking a sip from his goblet to wash down the Salisbury steak he'd been picking at, he never took his eyes of the back of Weasley's head as he stood up and made his way over to the boy's table with a catlike grace.

Lavender Brown, who'd been sitting across from the threesome, noticed him before any of them did, but the look on her face prompted them to glance over their shoulders.

"Well, will you look at that," said Weasley coolly, "a Malfoy's come down off his throne to talk to the commoners. How charming. What the hell do you want?"

Draco smiled. "Oh, nothing. Just to see how the other half lives." He made a point of looking at Weasley's plate, which held a disgusting mishmash of food. "Like that. Not very nutritious, is it? No wonder you can't duel right."

Weasley's cheeks began to flame in anger, but Draco had been counting on it. Smoothly straddling the seat next to Thomas, he leaned in towards the table.

"You should've seen him. Didn't even get a spell in before he was hung up by his ankles screaming like a girl."

Most of the Gryffindors didn't laugh, but a few couldn't contain themselves, and that just seemed to inflame Weasley's temper even more.

Draco glanced at him from the corner of his eye. _Come on, Weasley, come on, come on, say it, say it—_

"Oh yeah, at the beginning of the year? Ha! I could wipe the floor with you and Riddle now!"

It was much too easy.

* * *

Word of the impending group duel between Draco Malfoy, Harry Riddle, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas spread quickly throughout Hogwarts. Technically, only the first year students were really interested, what with it being their actual classmates, but everyone except the professors inevitably heard about it in one way or another, and as it turned out, everyone was invited. The higher grades showed no desire to go, nor did many of the first year girls, but almost all the Gryffindor boys decided it was up to them to show house support.

The first year Slytherins (even the girls) decided unanimously to go and do the same, but that was before Draco Malfoy called an impromptu meeting in the common room.

"Now," he said, "I'm sure that many of you have heard about the duel between myself, Harry, Granger, and the Gryffindor scum."

They all nodded.

"Good. Don't go." He smiled pleasantly and leaned back in his chair while they traded confused glances.

"What?" Pansy finally demanded.

"Nobody go."

She and Blaise frowned at each other.

"Don't you want us there?" she finally asked.

Draco shook his head. "No."

"Why not?" She was getting vaguely irritated.

"Because . . ." He paused and a slight grimace appeared on his face. "Because. If you go, you may suffer the consequences. Just, uh . . . don't go. Okay? Can we agree on this? Just, don't go out to the quidditch pitch tomorrow night, okay?"

He waited until there was a muttered round of agreements before smiling and leaving the common room, off to write a letter to a few select professors. This had actually been easier than he expected, but then again, he was dealing with Gryffindors.

* * *

At one o'clock in the morning the next night, Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas, along with the majority of the Gryffindor boys, tromped out to the quiddich pitch, fully prepared to duel with some Slytherins.

However, all they found was a very angry group of professors.

* * *

"Oh, sweet Merlin!" exclaimed Pansy the next morning at breakfast, pointing wildly at the hourglasses. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff hadn't changed, but Gryffindor seemed to be down a few hundred points.

A wild chattering rose up in the room, pleased shouts from the Slytherins and angry exclamations from the Gryffindors, who apparently weren't going to be winning the cup unless they managed to regain several hundred points in the next two hours.

Draco smirked and decided he was very pleased that he'd proven Harry wrong for once. After all, professors may not _give_ points after final exams, but for a bad enough infraction, they wouldn't mind taking them away.

-

-

-

Author's Note: Who's a lazy bitch? Me. It's been like six months, or something, right? I guess all I can really blame is writer's block and the fact that I just kind of drifted away from Harry Potter for awhile. Oh, and if you're one of the people who private messaged me about this story and I didn't reply to you, I'm so sorry. I know its rude but I've just been very busy lately, what with the holidays and having to attend some unpleasant social functions (aka a wedding and a few awkward birthday parties). But, to everyone who has PMed or reviewed, thank you so much. I love feedback, and I try to reply, but if I don't get the chance, know that I really do love it.

Oh, and about the first part, yes, I have read Dante's Inferno, but I didn't really get it. But, as I referanced Silent Hill in the last chapter, I felt it my sacred duty to referance Devil May Cry this chapter, which has two characters named after Dante and Virgil from The Divine Comedy (quite obviously, 'Dante' and 'Vergil' with an 'e'). And no, I don't mean to make fun of Inferno.

So, if you couldn't tell, I despised the part from the first book where Dumbledore gave Gryffindor points at the last moment, and this is my way of working out the anger. :)

After this we have the end of year ceremony, the train ride home, and a twist that's probably pushing the bounds of realism.

-Anna


	40. To Dream Is To Nightmare

"I had a horrible nightmare last night," said Hermione, looking as if she'd just eaten a particularly revolting Every Flavor Bean.

"And what might that be?" asked Harry, only semi-pleasantly. It was the last day of school, and they had just left their dorms and met up in a hallway near the dungeons before heading off towards the Great Hall. The Leaving Ceremony was to start in only a matter of minutes, and Harry wasn't eager to attend. He was just as incensed as Draco at Slytherin's impending loss, and he was sure he would have difficulties restraining himself from committing various acts of unspeakable violence when he saw the looks of smugness that would inevitably be plastered all over the Gryffindors' faces.

But what could he do? Sure, if he'd put his nose to the grindstone, he might've been able to think up some plan, but he'd done so much this year, and he was so _tired_ . . .

"I dreamt . . ." She swallowed, still looking vaguely repulsed. "I dreamt that I was married to Ronald Weasley and had a son named 'Hugo'."

Harry stopped in his tracks, slowly turning towards her. He was fairly certain his own face now reflected her expression. "Weasley?" he repeated, sounding both incredulous and dangerous at the same time.

"Hugo?" said Neville only a second later. "What kind of a name is 'Hugo'?"

Hermione grimaced. "Do you think I know? I'd never name a child that. Paired with 'Weasley', it's possibly one of the worst names you could possibly give."

"You dreamt you were married to Weasley?" Harry was still repeating, as if he couldn't process it.

Hermione stared at him angrily. "It wasn't a 'dream'—it was a _nightmare_. There's a difference. It wasn't as if I was happy with the situation, even in the dream. It was horrible."

Harry shook his head slowly, staring at her. "One more dream like that, Granger, and we're not friends anymore."

She snorted as he turned on his heel and started walking again.

Neville frowned. "I'd still be your friend . . . but . . . if you ever have a dream like—"

"Nightmare."

"—that again, just . . . don't tell me. Please?"

"If I ever have a nightmare like that again I'll be forced to take the Dreamless Sleep Potion every night for the rest of my life," she snapped, turning and running after Harry—

—only to slam into his back after rounding the next corner. He stumbled forward but the glare she was expecting never came; instead, he kept staring straight ahead. After shaking off the impact and stepping back, she followed his gaze and found herself gaping.

One of the hour glasses was drastically different. Not Slytherin or Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, but Gryffindor; the house seemed to have lost several hundred points, the amount of the little red gems nowhere near what there used to be.

And Slytherin was now in the lead.

"Oh, that." Neville had caught up to them and was talking. "While you two were recuperating in your rooms Draco challenged Weasley and Thomas and Finnigan to duel. Most of the Gryffindors turned up and the professors were mad so they took away a lot of points—"

Harry and Hermione had both turned to stare at him, and the bravado with which he'd started telling the story began to fade.

"—and, uh, I think it was that concussion—Madam Pomfrey told him to stay in bed like she did with you two but he didn't and . . ." He trailed off, laughing nervously.

But then Harry broke into a huge smile, one so wide it looked almost painful.

"Draco, Draco, Draco . . . I swear to Merlin, when I take over, I'm making him my right hand man."

"What?" demanded Hermione.

Harry cleared his throat. "Nothing."

* * *

The Great Hall went briefly silent and then burst into hushed chatter when Harry made his overly dramatic entrance, slamming the doors open with enough force for them to bang against the interior walls.

He strutted in, flanked on either side by Neville and Hermione, who both moved to their own tables after a moment. Harry stayed near the doors for a second while he surveyed the occupants of the hall—the professors all looked fairly disgruntled, probably because Slytherin's continued winning streak would make Severus haughtier than ever, while every single Gryffindor seemed about two seconds from murdering something.

Well, thought Harry as he trooped over to the Slytherin table, even if they did, at least Gryffindor House would be dishonored forever and ever.

He took a seat next to Draco and beamed at him.

"You are a genius," he found himself saying. Praise wasn't usually something that crossed his lips, but he meant every word of it, and even Draco's arrogant smile couldn't curb his utter happiness and relief. His father would've been extremely . . . _disappointed _. . . at the loss to Gryffindor, but now all those worries just floated away, leaving him contently pleased.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore, standing up. He looked slightly put out, but not as much as McGonagall, who was glaring at Snape from the corner of her eye. "Well, my, my, my—the year _has_ passed quickly. It almost seems like yesterday when all of you just came _back_, and now you're leaving again. And how eventful it's been!" He glanced over at the Slytherin Table, then at the green and silver decorations scattered about the room.

"And I do believe it's time to award the House Cup."

The Slytherins all smiled eagerly at each other, while every Gryffindor second year and up glared violently at the first years.

"In fourth place, with 260 points, is Gryffindor."

Harry and Draco clapped the loudest, smiling mockingly whenever a Gryffindor looked their way.

"In third place, with 423 points, is Hufflepuff."

Despite not winning, or even being in the top two, the Hufflepuffs looked positively thrilled to not be in last place for once.

"In second place is Ravenclaw, with 481 points."

Harry got the vague feeling that the Ravenclaws weren't sure why they kept losing, considering how many questions they answered during class. Harry wasn't sure, either, but it wasn't as though he cared so long as they lost.

"And in first place, with 500 points exactly . . . " Dumbledore took a deep breath which was probably a long suffering sigh. ". . . is Slytherin."

While the members of his house cheered, Draco made some vaguely insulting gestures at Weasley and Finnigan, both of whom glared back.

"Draco, for all your idiocy this year, you've definitely earned my respect."

Draco looked both insulted and pleased at the same time, but Harry turned away and started munching on some sort of potato dish he'd never heard of before coming to Hogwarts.

All in all, he decided while shoving a spoonful into his mouth, it had been a VERY good year.

_

_

_

Author's Note: Yeah, take that you Gryffindor bastards! Y'all didn't deserve to win, and I'm righting that wrong. :) Sorry about my pent up anger issues.

Oh, and yeah, I couldn't help but mock the Crapilogue a little. Unsubtle and uncalled for? Yeah, but it was sure fun to write. Yes, this story will probably, no definitely, be Draco/Hermione in the end. Why do I like that couple? I have no idea, I just do. But, if you don't, never fear, it's a LONG ways off. Like, end of seventh year.

And, if the House Cup Awarding Ceremony isn't very true to the book, it's because I've lost my copy of HP: The SS and had to improvise. But, I like it pretty well. There's about . . . two or three more chapters left at this point.

Anna


	41. The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

"I hate rain," said Draco, trying and failing to rub water drops off his cloak.

Hermione smiled. "I love rain."

There was an odd, silent moment during which they both stared almost dreamily up at the grey sky before they snapped out of it, traded glares and went their separate ways, Draco off to a covered area on the platform where Katie Bell was handing out free candy.

Hermione walked over to Harry and Neville, who were going over their grades. The former looked fairly pleased, while the latter was ashen.

"I got a Troll in Transfigurations!" Neville exclaimed, his voice shaking.

"But you got an O in, uh, Herbology, right?"

"How'd you know that?" he demanded, looking up at Harry, who stood across from him looking down at his own parchment.

"Because it's . . . the only subject you're good at."

Hermione rolled her eyes. After the Leaving Feast, all the students had been given an hour and a half to pack up their belongings, straighten their dorms, and get down to the entrance hall. There they had been given their much anticipated—or dreaded—grades, then taken down to the platform, where they currently were waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive.

Neville frowned deeply. "But I got an A in potions, and I'm dreadful at that."

Harry cleared his throat loudly, but Neville didn't seem to notice.

Hermione shook her head and smiled. Harry Riddle was possibly the strangest person she'd ever met, and not a little shifty. She didn't at all know how he got away with half of the things he did, or how he'd gotten Professor Snape to doctor Neville's potions grade, or why McGonagall and Hagrid hated him, or how he knew so many dark spells—in fact, it was a little frightening.

But, she wasn't about to say anything, despite her curiosity. When she'd first gotten her Hogwarts letter and come to realize it wasn't a joke, and that she was _actually_ a witch, and that there was _actually_ an entire world out there, just for people with magic . . . well, she'd been terrified. Fascinated, too, but more frightened. It was hard enough to fit into the world she'd grown up in—how was she ever supposed to adjust to some completely different, very strange society, especially one where her "kind" were scorned?

But then, by chance or design or just plain luck, she'd met Harry that day in Madam Malkin's. It wasn't even as though he'd been very receptive to her, but when they'd met again on the train, he'd talked to her, introduced her to people, tried to make her feel accepted. She'd been afraid that Draco would be there to remind Harry of the pureblood ideals they both obviously shared, so she'd tried to insert herself into their lives more and more, for fear of being left alone.

It might've worked, but she got the feeling that if Harry hadn't wanted her around he would've made it clear. The Hat had wanted to put her in Gryffindor originally, but she'd seen how he talked about them, how calculatingly he'd watched her as her name was called during the Sorting Ceremony—Ravenclaw, she'd begged.

_It's not the best house for you,_ the Hat had replied.

_I don't care, Ravenclaw!_

She'd been shocked when it had actually given in to her demands, and for a moment she'd worried that she'd made the wrong decision—but then he'd waved and smiled and she'd realized that even being in the wrong House was better than being without friends.

--

Draco came back over with several handfuls of candy, probably having threatened poor Katie to get so much. He handed some to Harry, and then (much more reluctantly) some to Hermione and Neville.

Harry stuck a chocolate in his mouth and put the rest in his left pocket. He was wearing the same robe he had been the night he confronted Grindelwald, having deemed it the luckiest piece of clothing he owned. Unless he soaked it in Felix Felicis it probably wasn't going to be doing anything for him, but he who was he to completely ignore superstitions?

And besides, he'd need all the luck he had to explain to his father how he'd only beaten "the mudblood Ravenclaw girl" by one and a half points all around. The man really didn't get how freakishly smart Hermione was. He'd had to up his study time by several hours each week just to get equal grades during the normal school year, and he'd practically killed himself before the Final Exams.

But, he'd gotten straight O's, only missed one question—in Transfigurations, go figure—and made up for it by scoring an extra five points on an extra credit Defense Against the Dark Arts question that Grindelwald had probably stuck in for a good laugh (it had to do with the properties of the Avada Kedavra, something he'd become intimately familiar with after years of seeing it cast fairly often).

Just as he was beginning to realize that staring at the Transfigurations mistake incessantly wouldn't, in fact, change it, he heard the unmistakable sound of a train's whistle. The other students heard it, too, and quickly gathered at the edge of the platform in time to see it smoothly glide down the tracks into place.

It remained still for a moment before the doors creaked open, finally giving the students a reprieve from the rain. They rushed in, pushing and shoving and shuffling bags and cages and brooms. Draco and Neville also started off, only to find themselves stuck behind a congested crowd. Hermione joined them a minute later and said something that made Neville laugh and Draco smile (as Malfoys never laughed, except at someone else's suffering).

Harry found himself smiling a little, too, and slowly folded up the parchment that held his grades.

"Mister Riddle!"

He turned around at the unmistakable, slightly shrill sound of Madam Pomfrey's voice. She was making her way towards him, looking fairly unhappy at being wet.

He smiled. "Why, Poppy, you don't have to be so formal. School's out after all."

She didn't smile, but didn't stop coming towards him. "Mister Riddle," she repeated, looking him over closely. "Has the frostbite healed?"

Harry nodded. "Completely. I can feel them again." He lifted his foot a little off the ground for emphasis.

"Good," she said curtly, and he noticed for the first time that she was holding something, an envelope. She looked down at it as well, held it out, and waited patiently for him to take it.

He reluctantly did, holding it up suspiciously.

"I clean out my office every few years, and I found that. Thought you might be interested. Now, do try to not get into such trouble next year. My budget is low as is, and spending so much on frostbite solution doesn't help."

With that, she turned and stalked off.

Harry smirked after her, glanced over and found that the crowd had almost entirely dissipated but that there would still be a wait, and decided he couldn't hold off for that long to open it.

Both cautious and eager, he undid the open flap and pulled out a piece of paper that was too thick to be anything but a photograph. On the back, the date '1974' was scrawled in messy handwriting and he turned it over, only to frown heavily.

There was a girl in the picture, maybe fourteen or fifteen, with red hair. He recognized her from the Mirror of Erised, but even if he hadn't, the eyes would've been enough to give her identity away.

Lily Evans.

She was talking to someone out of the camera's range, smiling and gesturing—perhaps she hadn't even known she was being photographed.

It was hard to picture her with Voldemort, he realized. Very hard. For all he thought about her (mudblooded filth, among other things) she just didn't seem the type. He'd never seen a picture of her before, but he'd expected her to have some type of harshness, world weariness, like Bella. But she didn't.

For the first time he wondered what had led her to meet Voldemort. She'd been married, hadn't she? To one of the Potter family? How could she have ever wound up giving birth to the Dark Lord's child? It didn't make sense, but then again, whatever did?

"I'm sorry," he found himself whispering. "I'm very, very sorry."

The Hogwarts Express blew its whistle, signifying that the stragglers had five more minutes to board and ending the moment.

Embarrassed, he shoved the picture back into the envelope and picked up his luggage, only to find that he couldn't hold it all properly with one of his hands still in use.

Cursing the Ministry of Magic and its stupid laws not for the first time, he tried to put the envelope into one pocket, only to find that it wouldn't fit with all the candy.

He growled softly in annoyance and tried the other, managing to get it in but only by moving around something else that was already there.

Frowning, he grasped it (smooth, round, cold) and pulled it up into the light, only to feel as though the world had suddenly stopped all around him.

"_The Stone was destroyed in your conflict with Professor Quirrell. There's no trace of it."_

The memory of Dumbledore's voice was almost surreal in his mind as he looked down at his palm, where the rainwater was mixing with the elixir the Sorcerer's Stone was still producing.

"Destroyed," he managed after an infinitely long minute, a hysterical laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him. ". . . said that just because you never found it, not because you knew it was . . ."

"Harry! Merlin, what's taking you so long?! They're going to leave without you if you don't move it!"

Harry closed his hand around the Stone and looked up, finding Draco's head had, at some point, been stuck out a window and was yelling at him.

"Coming," he shouted, his voice cracking only a little. Draco rolled his eyes and slid back in.

Quickly forcing away the shock that wanted to keep his legs frozen, he put the Stone into a compartment of his luggage and picked all the bags up, rushing for the train.

He was the last one on, and the Hogwarts Express pulled away only seconds after, heading down the tracks into the sprawling forest, destined for King's Cross Station.

_

_

_

Author's Note: Did I not mention a twist that pushed the bounds of reality? Yeah, that was it. But its going to come in handy later in the series, okay?

Oh, and I rewrote and edited some of the first chapters, and gave Bellatrix Lestrange a bit part in the Diagon Alley chapter. And, Sirius and Remus get mentioned a little bit more in the prologue (they speak, wow). And Voldemort gets a slightly expanded role (he's basically doing the same thing but thinking about it more). Oh, and I gave Lily a much better explanation as to why she cheated on James and how she found out about Tom Riddle being Voldemort. :)

And, uh, did you notice that the titles of my chapters have gone from somewhat idicative of what happens in the actual chapter to completely off the wall? Yeah, I did, too.

-Anna


	42. Collateral For A Rainy Day

The Sorcerer's Stone could end the War before it even began.

With it in his possession, Voldemort would be permanently immortal, and the word of what amazing power the Dark Lord had would spread quickly, convincing more and more people to join his cause, them too frightened of being on the losing side to do anything else. With his ranks swelled, he could catch Dumbledore unprepared, storm Hogwarts and the Ministry, conquer the Wizarding World in one swift blow.

He could be a king, and Harry could be a prince.

And then, he could do anything he wanted. Sentence Weasley to have his soul sucked out by Dementors. Feed Hagrid to one of his pets. Lock McGonagall in a room with some Pitbulls while she was in her cat form. Cruciatus Mrs. Norris to death.

And those were only the first four he could think of off the top of his head. And oh, did he ever feel satisfied just imagining them.

But, then again, he wouldn't be able to do any of that if he were dead.

"—_but then he won't see you as an asset any longer. He'll see you as a threat. He'll kill you."_

Harry didn't want to believe Grindelwald. He wanted to think that, while his father was evil, he still cared about his own son, that he wasn't inhuman enough to just throw away a child he'd raised from infancy.

But he would be lying to himself. People feared Voldemort for a reason, people called him the darkest wizard ever to live for a _reason_. Harry didn't understand a lot of what he did, the evil he committed, but he didn't want to, because sometimes he was afraid that if he ever started to understand a twisted mind he'd become twisted himself, and that was something he hoped would never happen, because insanity scared him more than anything. His mind was the one thing he had total control over, and to lose even that was something he didn't want to contemplate.

However, the threat of death seemed a bit more imminent, and so he found it more pressing an issue.

He could give his father the Stone, that little red Stone that even now sat in his bag, wetting his robes with immortal water.

And then—

—"_Father," he'd say, smiling a sly little smile and holding the Stone behind his back. "You'll just never believe what I've gotten for you."_

_He'd reveal it, Voldemort would smile a wide, genuine smile, one like he'd never seen before, and hug him and say, "I'm so proud of you, son!" and they'd live happily ever after like something out of a fairy tale, father and son, king and prince—_

—or—

—_Voldemort would smile a wide, nasty smile, take the Stone, draw his wand, and Harry's life would end in a flash of green light and the words "Avada Kedavra!" and Voldemort would only ever say, "You've served your purpose" to his corpse.—_

Sickly sweetness and total coldness. Two extremes. Couldn't he imagine anything in between?

_No_, he answered a moment later, _because Voldemort was always extreme, no matter what he did. _He couldn't just dislike Muggles, he had to start a war over it. He couldn't just resent his father, he had to murder him. Voldemort was never in between.

"Are you okay?" asked Hermione, looking at him and frowning. She sat across from him, next to Neville, and looked a bit concerned.

Harry cleared his throat. "Fine. Just a little headache. Keep talking."

She nodded slowly, and Neville resumed his story.

"Well, there's not that much more to tell, but—I _bounced_! It was the magic! Everyone was so relieved!"

Draco was staring at him. "They _threw_ you out a window? And off a pier? Did they want you to die? Should you even be going back to these people?"

Neville was still smiling. "It was the proudest day of my life, other than getting my Hogwarts letter. I would've been so ashamed if I were a squib. Did anybody else do any accidental magic?"

"Once I made flowers bloom in my mum's garden during January," said Hermione, grinning fondly at the memory. "My grandparents were staying over for the New Years and they didn't know what to make of it, but my parents had known there was something strange about me since I made my older sister's skin turn green for an entire day when she stole my Miss Daisy doll."

Draco stared at her.

"I was four years old, okay?" she snapped, only to turn around and look at him pointedly.

He smirked. "I set a House Elf's hair on fire."

"House Elves have hair?" demanded Neville.

"Some," said Draco. He sneered. "You'd know if your family could afford them."

"Are you sure you didn't use a match?" asked Hermione skeptically.

He sniffed. "Of course I'm sure. Harry was there!"

Silence. He glared. "Right, Harry?"

"Hmm?" Harry looked up. "Oh, yeah, House Elf. Hair on fire. We were five, you were mad because he brought you the wrong kind of chocolate from the kitchen and bam, flames. Never did grow back, the poor thing. What was his name? Demmy?"

"Dobby."

"Right. And then once your mother had put it out he insisted on hitting himself on the head with a lamp to apologize for making you upset."

Hermione cringed. "They actually do that? I mean, I'd heard they practiced self mortification, but I'd thought that that was a long time ago—"

"No," said Draco. "They still do it today. Old habits, and all that. Once I saw one slam a door on its own ear. Repeatedly."

Neville looked a bit ill, and everyone independently decided to stop talking.

Harry looked back down at his lap, not caring if anyone noticed how subdued he was. For a moment, he almost wished the Stone _had_ been destroyed, that he could just go home and enjoy his summer.

But, he thought, looking out the window, it was going to be a dark, wet summer, anyway. And his father didn't need the Stone, not now. The War hadn't begun, his plans weren't fully formed, and he didn't seem to be in any danger of dying.

And besides, perhaps Harry didn't want to share. He needed everything he could get for a future he was unsure of.

So, he'd simply save it for a rainy day. Daddy didn't have to know.

_

_

_

Author's Note: Hermione has no siblings! I know! But when I started writing this, I didn't, so . . . now she does. :) And I'm not sure if you can actually conjure fire as an act of accidental magic, but, hey, now you can!

And, there's only--wait, wait, I say this every chapter, don't I? But, its true this time. There's only two chapters left. The one after this and an epilogue. And then we start year two! Yay for Basilisks! Freedom for House Elves! No, wait, slavery forever for House Elves!!

Anna


	43. Very Secret Diaries of a Mudblood Gaunt

The Gaunt Vault, buried several miles below the ground under Gringotts Bank, had been empty for nearly three hundred years, ever since Morton Gaunt had drunk away what remained of the fortune his father, Malvolio Gaunt, had squandered on an addiction to Felix Felicis and a trophy wife named Elvira.

However, it had stayed in the family for the next generations in the hope that someone would come along to fill it back up. But, Malvolio and Morton would probably have both died of their respective substance problems if they'd known that the next person to set foot in the vault would be their mudblooded descendant.

Harry had gotten home in the mid-afternoon and spent the first two hours like he'd predicted, having nothing short of an argument with his father over his grades compared to Hermione's. He almost wondered how the man even knew what everyone had scored, but guessed that Severus must've given them to him, like he did all information that could prove semi-profitable.

Harry decided he hated spies. In fact, now that he gave it thought, how did one even get to be a spy? Was that a career one could discuss with their Head of House at the end of their seventh year? "Yes, Professor, I want to put myself in danger of both the Dementor's Kiss and a gruesome end at the hands of a Dark Lord by becoming a double agent. I hope I have enough N.E.W.T.s for it."

But, no matter. After Harry had worked his voice raw protesting that his grades were perfectly fine, Voldemort had finally gone down to his potions lab in the dungeon. Technically, it was a basement, as muggle houses didn't have dungeons, but what with all the chains crusted with dried blood, the well used torture mechanisms, and musty old cells, it could very well count as a dungeon.

What his father was doing Harry didn't know, but he used the peace and quiet to think up a plan as to where to hide the Stone. He couldn't very well keep it anywhere in the Manor, as some overly helpful House Elf was bound to find it one day and hand it over to Voldemort. Then again, Voldemort would also find it if he put it in the Riddle Vault. So where was he to hide it?

He'd thought on it for awhile before the answer came to him—why not put it in the long abandoned, utterly empty Gaunt Vault? To the best of his knowledge, his father had inherited—or stolen—the key to it from old Uncle Morfin, the one who was moderately retarded and could only speak Parseltongue. He was almost certain that it had sat empty ever since, the key gathering dust in a drawer in Voldemort's office.

So, it hadn't been difficult to swipe it, yell down at his father that he was going to Malfoy Manor, and floo to the Leaky Cauldron. He'd had the urge to buy some dinner (he hadn't eaten since the Leaving Ceremony, after all, and there was a roast chicken and mashed potato special that looked positively delectable) but decided that he neither had the time nor the stomach for it, what with the Gringotts' cart rides being as they were.

He'd hurried through the streets, avoiding the areas frequented by Dark Wizards, and now had finally arrived at the bank, which looked almost exactly the same as it had in August, with some differences. There were a few more goblins prowling around, all with nasty looks on their faces, and more notably, gigantic trolls standing by the doors that led to the cart ride access. They were taller than the ones Harry had seen at school, a bit more human looking, with stringy hair, bulging eyes, and twisted yellow teeth. They growled amongst each other, holding up their clubs and apparently comparing size.

"Security trolls," said a gentle male voice to his left. Harry looked up and found that, at some point, a man had come in the front doors after him and stopped to look. He was small and straggly, with strange yellow eyes and brown hair, which was very obviously starting to grey despite him only looking to be in his thirties.

Something about him reminded Harry of Fenrir Greyback, and he suddenly felt nervous.

"They've been here since the robbery in August—but they make everyone a bit . . ." The man shrugged, and smiled.

"If someone really wanted to get past them they could just . . ." Harry also shrugged, his thoughts turning unbidden to the Halloween Incident. "Use a spell. 's not hard."

"No, but I suppose there are wards—" The man finally looked away from the trolls to look down at him and trailed off, a peculiar look coming over his face. It changed from confusion to (_recognition_?) something like shock, then a quiet desperation that made Harry shift around and slowly inch his hand towards a wand he remembered too late wasn't there.

The man swallowed and licked his lips, that strange yellow gaze darting over the boy's face and resting on his eyes. "My name's Remus," he finally said. "What's yours?"

Harry coughed, even though his throat didn't itch. "My Daddy told me never to talk to strangers," he said, as haughtily as he could. Greyback had once told him that predators were more apt to hunt the weak, people who were frightened or unconfident. Harry strived to be neither of those things, as he spent most of his time surrounded by predators. "Sorry."

He turned and started towards the counter, where a long line of disgruntled looking wizards and witches had formed. Harry realized the reason was because only one goblin was on teller duty, and he was currently deep in a conversation with Filius Flitwick, one that had less to do with banking and more with their next family reunion.

"It's just . . . you remind me of someone." Remus hadn't followed him, but it wasn't as if Harry had gone very far to reach the end of the line.

He smirked, even though Remus couldn't see it. "And you remind _me_ of someone."

Remus cleared his throat. "It's—it's your eyes, you see—"

Harry stiffened. He'd had just about enough of Lily Evans, her eyes, and the horrid, sentimental emotions they evoked, and now he here was, suddenly on the spot. He realized with a growing sense of horror that maybe this Remus had known Lily—she'd had to have had friends, right? Even more terrifying was that maybe he even recognized him as Harry Potter from 1980. After all, she'd been married, right? Would she have kept him a secret? Could she have? Had Remus been a friend of hers who'd been around during that time?

Swallowing convulsively, he calmed himself enough to take another long look at Remus. Haggard, tired, scarred. Greyback embraced his lycanthropy, but even he deteriorated into that same worn appearance during the full moon.

"It's your eyes, too," Harry said, slowly stalking back over to Remus, a plan forming in his mind. Most werewolves didn't broadcast their 'condition' . . . "I really don't like the color yellow, you know, reminds me too much of a wolf."

He knew he'd hit a nerve when Remus froze, and then began to look surreptitiously from side to side to see if anyone had heard. They hadn't, as Harry was practically whispering by now.

"And it's so near the full moon, too," he murmured. "Makes me nervous to be around people like you. Now will you please leave me alone? Or I swear to the gods I'll—"

"I'm leaving," said Remus, wringing his hands. With a last glance at Harry, he turned and practically bolted for the doors.

"Oh, and Mister Remus?"

The man hesitantly looked over his shoulder. Harry smiled innocently. He knew it was wrong to say anything more, oh so wrong—but he couldn't resist.

"My name's Harry."

Remus's eyes widened to a degree that must've been uncomfortable and he left, the door swinging shut behind him.

Unsettled, Harry stared after him, but decided that he couldn't do anything now. And besides, what would the man be able to do? Harry couldn't even be sure that the person he reminded Remus of was Lily Evans. It wasn't as though no one else in the world had green eyes.

Snorting at his own paranoia, he turned back to the line and saw that Flitwick had finally decided to move on, letting the angry witch behind him go to the teller, who she glared venomously at. "I have seven hungry children at home, and I can't spend all my time waiting for you to pick out poultry with your cousin! Great Merlin, what is the world coming to?! I should talk to your manager!"

"I am the manager! Might I suggest you go home and feed those children, my dear madam?"

"Hello, Professor," Harry called as Flitwick passed. The man startled and almost dropped his bank statements, but managed to reply, "Hello, Mister Riddle," before fleeing.

"—Weasley Vault!"

Harry looked back at the woman upon hearing the name "Weasley", just in time to see her be escorted away by another goblin, past the trolls and into the cart antechamber. Now that he took the time to look, he realized that she did have red hair, and that he vaguely recalled seeing her at King's Cross Station on September first, with a pack of children.

Dear Ronald's mother? He supposed so, as to the best of his knowledge, there was only one real branch of the Weasley family, at least in England. Lucius Malfoy had quite the problem with the what's-his-name patriarch of the family and spent a lot of his time insulting the entire clan. It had actually become something of a hobby of his, amusing if repetitive. Why the head of one of the oldest, most notable, and wealthiest pureblood families in the world spent his time locked in a rivalry with the head of one of the poorest and least notable families in the world made Harry wonder. Sometimes he theorized that Abraxas Malfoy and Septimus Weasley had been lovers during their Hogwarts years and had had a truly spectacular row at some point in their lives, thus the eternal enmity, but he was sure that if he ever mentioned it to Lucius he'd end up with several extra limbs and eyes.

But, even then, it was funny to think about. He just hoped neither Lucius nor Draco ever took up legimency as a new hobby.

"Ahem!"

Harry looked up to find that he was now first in line and that Flitwick's cousin was impatiently waving him over.

"I want to go down to the Gaunt Vault," he said, walking over and slamming the key down on the counter in front of the goblin.

Flitwick's cousin inspected it closely and frowned. "Griphook!" he called. A moment later, a particularly nasty looking goblin emerged from a back room.

"This boy wants to go down to the Gaunt Vault," said Flitwick's cousin, gesturing at him.

Griphook narrowed his eyes. "The Gaunt Vault? But that's been abandoned since 1669! I know, I was there."

Harry hadn't been aware the goblins could live that long, and decided at once that it was more than a little creepy.

"We'd thought that all of that family had died out a long time ago, boy," continued Griphook. He looked at Harry questioningly.

He cleared his throat. "No, just had a name change. Marriage, and all that. I'm afraid we went through a bad period from . . . well, you know, the 1600s onward—inbreeding, you know . . . but now things are different and I want in the vault." He smiled as charmingly as he could.

The two goblins didn't return the gesture, instead just staring at him stonily.

"We have to prove your legitimacy, then, Mister . . .?"

"Riddle."

"Riddle—" Flitwick's cousin wrote it down on a slip of parchment. "And a first name?"

"Harry." He wondered for a moment if he should've given a false name, but decided that he couldn't think one up that his father wouldn't be able to see through. Harold Puzzle? Harlow Rhyme? Harrison Poem? Merlin, all of those would've probably just drawn more attention to himself.

"Griphook, take him to the back and determine if he's telling the truth."

Harry practically shivered at that, unwelcome images of torture chambers and pain curses springing into his mind, but Griphook simply led him into a small room off the lobby, drew some blood, and left the room, only to come back a few moments later saying, "Strange, I remember all the Gaunts being unbearably ugly. Someone must've married someone very nice looking."

Harry puffed out his chest and smiled. "I hear tell grandfather was very handsome." He'd never actually seen a photo of Tom Riddle Senior, but if grandmother Merope's love struck ramblings were anything to go by, the man was a living Adonis. He might've written it off as just that, ramblings, if his father hadn't been there to bolster her claims. He obviously didn't take after his mother, or else—well, Harry would shudder to think.

Of course, Voldemort hated it when Merope spoke about Tom Senior and had threatened to set her on fire on more than one occasion, never hesitating to remind her that she was just a portrait and that canvas burned very easily. Harry had to wonder what their relationship would've been like if she'd survived labor, though that also made him shudder.

"This way, Mister Riddle," said Griphook, leading him back into the lobby and through a door next to the one the Weasley woman had gone through. Harry brushed past one of the trolls and realized with no small amount of disgust that it smelled almost as bad as the two from Hogwarts, if in a different way. While the one that had cornered Hermione in the bathroom smelt like Transylvanian swamp gunk, and the dead one smelt the same plus decay, this one had the smell of something that had been cleaned too often with disinfectant to mask a nasty scent, only for it to bleed through anyway. So, in short, it smelled like the Hospital Wing.

How in Agrippa's fine name had anyone ever thought up training trolls? They were quite a bit more dangerous than any thief could ever be, in his opinion.

Harry met its beady eyes for a moment and glared, which he got the feeling made it a bit angry. Or, he found himself thinking in the next instant, perhaps the troll in the bathroom had been somehow related to it? He wrote it off as stupid, but even if, he didn't think the things were smart enough—or sentient enough—to specifically hunt anyone down because of a grudge. But, one could ever get too much Cruciatus practice, so it wasn't as though he cared if they could.

"Did you get those clothes from the Saint Mungo's morgue?" he asked nastily, breaking eye contact and following Griphook, who let him through the door. The two clambered onto one of the carts, and Harry very carefully used one hand to grab the side, while keeping the other clenched tightly around the Stone in his robe pocket. He'd done his best to disguise it, which hadn't been very good, considering his lack of magic. It wasn't as though that particular Hogwarts School scarf had any protection charms on it, and all one would have to do was unwrap it and there the Stone would be, in all its glory. He would've preferred one of those enchanted shrouds he'd once seen in the Middle East, which absorbed themselves into your fingers if you happened to touch them without permission and slowly destroyed all of your internal organs.

_That_ was protection, if perhaps a slow and rather inefficient form. But, Voldemort hadn't bought any that day, so Harry was stuck with the scarf.

And he'd_ liked_ that scarf. It had his monogram on it, his initials in spidery silver calligraphy, embroidered right above the Slytherin symbol, and—

"Now, hold on, boy!" said Griphook. He sneered. "I hope you haven't eaten sweets recently. We don't need a mess."

Harry barely had time to wonder if five hours ago counted as "recently" before the cart lurched and started forward, first down a small slope and then further, until it was thundering over the track, past vault door after vault door, long stretches of rock walls, and a hundred different antechambers and turnoffs, all of which leading to gods-knew-where.

As they passed a rather large alcove, Harry heard a huge, vicious roar and saw fire coming at him from the corner of his eye, but at the speed they were going he was only singed.

"Hate dragons," he muttered, "hate them!"

Griphook made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, and Harry decided that when the Dark Lord took over he'd die, painfully, right after Weasley and Hagrid and McGonagall.

The ride continued, down and around a wall in a loop, then through a very narrow, dank tunnel that seemed completely absent of light. When they reached the light at the end, there was a sudden jolt, accompanied by the sound of metal scraping painfully against metal. Harry turned around in time to see that the cart had flown out over a jutting edge(and therefore completely off the track), but before he had time to contemplate the gruesome death that could've occurred if they'd landed wrong, the cart swerved around a bend and the edge was forced out of sight.

Abruptly, after a few more seconds of travel (during which Harry had started muttering "going to die, going to die, going to die" under his breath), the cart screeched to a halt beside a platform. Harry shakily climbed out and stood facing the door on wobbly legs. When the vertigo dissipated and his vision cleared, he found that the Gaunt Vault door was different from the Riddle one, namely because this one was a dark bronze color and had the family name inscribed in large letters across the top. As Voldemort hated the name 'Riddle', he tried to use it as little as he could, only as an alias when 'Voldemort' wouldn't work. Therefore, the Riddle Vault had just a blank black door.

Griphook stepped in front of him and used the key in some unseen lock. With a jolt, the thick stone panel began to recede, first back, then off to the side. Dust and dirt flew into the air, making both Griphook and Harry cough. The latter thought for a moment that this was something like being on an archeological dig and opening a tomb, but when everything settled there were no mummies or gold statues in sight—just a big, completely empty space.

Well, not _completely. _Harry squinted at a sudden glint and walked to the center of the vault, where he found a single galleon, lying dirty and alone on the floor. He stooped down and picked it up, examining it carefully.

"Hmm," he muttered. "Thanks, Morton. Maybe I'll be able to buy some pumpkin juice on the way home."

He pushed the galleon into his pocket and turned around, only to find that Griphook hadn't followed him in. He fleetingly wondered if the little thing would be spiteful and try to lock him in but decided that he was being paranoid. After all, killing clients wasn't good for business.

Withdrawing the stone, he pulled back the silver and green material and gave it one last, very long, hard look. The Stone continued shining brightly, producing its elixir, which bled through the scarf and onto his hand. He held his fingers up, struggling to see the water drops in the lack of light.

Slowly, he moved his hand in front of his mouth and flicked out his tongue, catching a droplet with the tip.

It dissolved quickly, tasting exactly like water, and Harry didn't feel any different than he had before.

The spell broken, he shrugged and wrapped it back up as tightly as he could, seeking out a shadowy corner to place it in. The vault was surprisingly well preserved, with mahogany shelves lining the walls and a smooth stone floor. Harry finally chose a shelf at the back, right in the center of the darkest part of the room.

He placed it down carefully, making sure it laid flat, and reluctantly let go and moved back. He felt like he was letting go of something too important to be out of his grasp, even for a second, but he told himself again that it was the only way and slowly exited the vault.

Griphook wordlessly closed the door behind him, locking it and then joining him in the cart. The ride back was largely uneventful (though they had to pause to get around the cut off in the road, the sight of which made Griphook mutter angrily under his breath) and soon Harry found himself leaving the bank altogether.

Wiping his hands on his outer robe, he spared a glance back at the front doors, then let himself think about Remus again. He shouldn't have ever said his name was 'Harry', that was possibly one of the stupidest things he'd done all year (and that was definitely saying something) . . . but then again, he never could keep his mouth shut.

Hoping once again that his name had no significance to the man, he headed back for the Leaky Cauldron, absentmindedly clutching the galleon in his pocket.

_

_

_

Author's Note: There are so many things _wrong_ with this chapter . . . but I can't think of any other way to write it. And I'm way too tired to reread it again.

Anna


	44. About Her

"_Oh, and Mister Remus? My name's Harry."_

Remus Lupin had to stop and lean heavily against a store window just to eliminate the threat of collapse. It couldn't be true. He told himself that it couldn't be, but then again, he knew it was. He'd known it before the boy had even said his name, suspected before he'd even seen his eyes—it was all in the scent.

Almost twelve years previous, Sirius had once accused him of never being able to keep a secret. The memory was faded a bit, but he could still clearly see the man's annoyance, hear the scathing tone in his voice.

"_Goddamn it, Remus, you can't keep a fucking secret, can you?! And now if Lily and James get divorced it'll be your fault, you know that?!"_

He'd been tongue-tied at the moment, too aware of Lily crying in the next room to think of a response, but over the years he'd been able to formulate one: _"James was the one cheating, Sirius. If he and Lily get divorced, it's his own fault."_

But he hadn't said that, and Sirius had continued.

"_You weren't even there! You and that fucking nose of yours!"_

Yes, that nose of his. It was true that, because of his lycanthropy, he could hear things and smell things a normal person would be incapable of. And Sirius had been correct to assume that was how he'd been able to tell James was cheating on Lily.

It was also how he'd been able to tell Lily was cheating on James.

Men don't wear perfume, and the man she'd been with hadn't worn cologne, so his scent had been there, crystal clear, masked by nothing. For months during that time, his senses had been assaulted with leftover arousal and lust every time they were in the same room, and he'd known that he wasn't smelling James.

Sirius had said he couldn't keep a secret—but he could. He hadn't said a word to anyone, not even to Lily herself. If James could be unfaithful (with more than one woman, in fact), why couldn't Lily be unfaithful with another man? Because she was a woman? To say she couldn't would be a shameless double standard, and if it made her happy, who was he to speak up about it?

But then, abruptly, he stopped smelling the other man, and something much more horrible took its place. He'd only smelt it to such a degree once before, when Severus Snape had been fleeing for his life away from the Shrieking Shack—terror. He hadn't been able to understand it then. What did she have to be afraid of? Impending parenthood?

No, that couldn't have been the explanation. The emotion was too strong in her for something like that.

He'd still been wondering nine months later, when Harry was born. Everyone said he looked so much like James, but he didn't really. He had dark hair; that was where the resemblance began and where it ended.

And half of Wizarding Britain had that color hair. Apparently Lily's lover had, too.

Sirius had said he couldn't keep a secret, but on July 31, he'd been burdened with yet another one. He was the only person who'd been able to tell that Harry wasn't James' child, the baby's scent was too different from his and too close to the other man's.

And for awhile, Remus had thought that he'd solved the mystery, that that was why she'd been so afraid during her pregnancy and still was. Having a child that wasn't your husband's wouldn't do anyone's reputation any good, and God only knew how James himself would react.

But, even after her husband and everyone else conceivable had, without a doubt, assumed it was James', her feelings hadn't changed. In fact, it had just gotten worse. Remus got jumpy just being in the same room with her, the fear was so overwhelming.

By the time Harry was about a year old, he'd decided he could safely rule out discovery being the source of the fear, but he'd never gotten a chance to solve the mystery. Lily was dead only a month or so later.

He had to wonder why Lord Voldemort himself had singled her out. Why had he personally gone after someone who wasn't truly important in the scheme of things . . .?

"And there you are! I've been looking for you for an hour! I mean, I know that old bitch was more insulting than usual today, but I've tried all sorts of spells and even turpentine and all it did was make her more angry—Remus, hello?!"

Remus steadied himself and turned around, forcing a smile onto his face. If it looked fake, Sirius didn't seem to notice, or maybe attributed it to the time of month. Harry had been right; it was near the full moon and he was very tired, his whole body achy as the wolf began to claw its way closer to the surface. He tried his best to be cheerful during those days, but sometimes he just couldn't be.

"Hi, Sirius," he managed, puzzled as he saw that Sirius looked oddly agitated. "What's wrong?"

Sirius began to explain as he grabbed his arm and started them off in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, quickly dodging shoppers and vendors and animals running underfoot.

"As I said, I've been looking for you for all of two hours—we've got to get back to Grimmauld Place. There's been an emergency Order meeting called. McGonagall was the one who told me, she seemed upset—" Someone bumped into him roughly from the side, cutting him off mid sentence, and he didn't hesitate to snap, "Excuse you!" The witch paused to glare at him but hurried on her way when he glared right back.

Remus frowned deeply. He hadn't heard the words 'emergency Order meeting' since the end of the War, when meetings had to be held whenever the need arose, as the Death Eaters' activity fluctuated and new information became available. Since the fighting came grinding to a halt ten years ago, they met only once a month, and even then, it had changed over the years from preparing for another war to becoming something of a social. Talk of spies and battles and strategy had slowly morphed into 'oh-hello-cousin-Andromeda' and 'how-are-the-children-Molly' and 'it's-nice-to-know-you-still-hate-me-Severus'.

But now . . . what did this mean?

"Did anyone say what it was about?" he asked, finally voicing his thoughts.

"No," Sirius replied shortly, pulling him through the Cauldron's entrance and leading him over to the fireplace, ignoring the bartender Tom, who asked if he wanted his usual. He picked up a handful of floo powder. "But, we're about to find out. Number twelve Grimmauld Place!"

Remus watched as Sirius disappeared into the flames and reluctantly followed him, a feeling of dread building in his chest. He came out in familiar surroundings, the house's library, and could already hear Walburga screaming obscenities at someone in the foyer.

"_Son of a mudblooded whore! How dare you disgrace the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black with your disgusting, inferior presence?!"_

Remus grimaced and slowly patted the ash off his clothes.

"Why, it's nice to see you, too, Walburga. You always were such a good student, too."

Dumbledore. Only he could take the insults so calmly.

"_Blood traitors! Mudbloods! Polluting my family home! How dare—?!"_

"Oh, shut up, you old hag!" Sirius, of course.

"_Don't talk to me that way you filthy blood traitor! I wish I'd never whelped you, you little—"_

Remus shook his head, cursing whoever it was who had commissioned that portrait. He'd never actually met Walburga Black in life, but if her portrait self still had the same personality, it was quite shocking that someone would still want her around after death.

Slipping off his sooty shoes, he slowly made his way to the dining room and took a seat at the table, trying to keep his thoughts focused on the meeting and not on that boy. Lily's son.

He couldn't deny it, no matter how he might've wanted to. The boy had the same scent, the same eyes, the same color hair; he was the right age . . . there was no question. But that led to the matter of how he survived. Had he not been there in the house that night? Voldemort wouldn't have killed the parents and left the child alive, it wasn't the sort of thing he would do, but even if he had, the baby never could've survived the fire. Someone would've had to have come along right after the Dark Lord had left and taken Harry away without waiting around for help, and the chances of that were less than slim.

So, Harry couldn't have been there at all. Unless . . .

Remus felt his blood freeze in his veins at the unbidden thought that came slithering into his mind, taking up an unwanted place in his head. It was just . . . unconceivable . . . impossible . . . _disgusting_ . . .

"We're all here," said Dumbledore, smiling in his usual dotty way and looking carefully around the table. However, he almost immediately turned serious. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called this meeting."

There was a murmuring of agreement and nods all around, except from Remus, who couldn't help but think about a time eleven years ago, when they'd spent all of four months meticulously planning a devastating attack on Voldemort's forces, a surprise attack, a _secret_ known only by the Order members, only for—

—"_They knew!" Sirius shouted, holding a bloody rag to the ragged wound down the side of his scalp. It had been inflicted by a cutting curse, but he had fared well compared to some of the others laying on the hospital beds, their voices hoarse from the pained screaming and moaning, or the ones being carried away on stretchers with blankets over their heads._

"_They were prepared for us!" he continued, eyes wild. "We've got a spy, we've got to have a spy in our ranks! How else could he have known?!"_

_And then Lily was there, leading him off to a cot and casting healing spells and stinking of the other man—_

"Looking back on it," continued Dumbledore, rubbing his hands together and lacing his fingers, "I should've told you sooner. But . . . what's done is done."

Everyone was looking a bit more concerned than they had before, Arthur and Molly Weasley trading glances and Mad Eye Moody leaning forward slightly.

Dumbledore continued: "We have a situation, one that first presented itself at the beginning of the school year. It was completely unexpected, to say the least—I, for one, was shocked."

Remus had always assumed that Peter had been the one to tell the Death Eaters about their plans, but looking back on it, he realized that Peter hadn't attended very many Order meetings for those few months, because he'd been off on holiday with his parents for the first two and preoccupied with classes for the next. Remus couldn't even remember anymore what he'd been studying at university, but by the time he'd been free enough to be around consistently, Lily had already given birth, and he'd spent a lot of time staring at the baby, hadn't he, staring with an odd expression on his face and then looking at Lily calculatingly . . .

"It seems that Lord Voldemort has decided to make himself known again . . . but, I must admit, in a rather unusual fashion. Though . . . an oddly fitting one, I suppose, after such a long absence."

Now everyone was visibly becoming upset, nervous gestures betraying each. Remus vaguely noticed for the first time that Severus wasn't present, but he couldn't bring himself to wonder about it because he was too busy remembering that he'd never smelt the other man on Lily ever again after that disaster of a battle, that the fear had come in almost immediately and taken its place—

—and _why did Voldemort single Lily out?_

"It seems that Voldemort has a son."

The Dark Mark had been hanging in the sky that night, over the house. Harry's body had never been found, and the Potters' deaths hadn't changed anything in the War. The murders were pointless, yet Voldemort had carried them out himself; he hadn't even been content with just killing James, the one Dumbledore had claimed would've been the higher priority—he'd hunted down Lily and murdered her, she'd been found in front of the crib, her eyes wide open.

_And Harry had never been found_.

And now there was a boy with Lily's eyes and Harry's scent running around, and Lord Voldemort had a son.

"I'm very disturbed about this situation, as I see that all of you are, too."

There was a long stretch of shocked silence, during which even Walburga was deathly quiet.

"But—but . . . how could he even produce children? Dark magic like that would've made him sterile, wouldn't it? That's always been a problem in my family . . ." Sirius had been the first—and only—one to regain his voice, but it looked like Dumbledore had been anticipating the question.

"I'm quite sure the boy is biologically Voldemort's, they look quite a bit alike and, well . . ."

At some point he had withdrawn a short strand of black hair from a vial in his pocket and laid it out on the table in front of him. He pointed his wand at it.

"_Parentis_," he shouted, and then there was light and words were forming, names, at an agonizingly slow pace. Remus watched with morbid fascination and dread, his hands twisting nervously on his lap.

Father was spelled out, one letter after the other, then Voldemort's real name, _Tom Marvolo Riddle_, then next to it, by father, 'mother' formed, then a name, one letter at a time—

_L_

_i_

_l_

_y_

—and even though Remus wished the spell would just stop, it kept writing until an entire name was spelled out:

_Lily Elizabeth Evans_.

The room erupted into disbelieving shouts, a flurry of motion as people shot out of their seats, a piercing stream of insults as Walburga was jarred back to life, a wild flurry of denials and outrage pouring from the mouths of all present—

But Remus Lupin was not surprised.

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Author's Note: Ahem. Yeah. Did I say this was the last chapter? I lied. However, I can tell you that there is only an epilogue left, and that it IS the last chapter, and that its already written.

I'm not aware of Lily's canon middle name ever having been mentioned, so I gave her a generic one. And only as I write this do I realize that I actually gave her mine. Whoops. I'm not trying to insert myself into the story. In fact, I don't care much for Lily, as I'm sure I've mentioned previously.

And, as I also said in an earlier note, I did edit some of the earlier chapters and this makes some reference to that. It's been difficult working out how Voldemort and Lily could end up together without involving rape, so work with me here.

I also forget how Walburga behaves toward Dumbledore and the layout of 12 Grimmauld Place (shame on me for not double checking), but oh well . . .

And look over yonder, it's another pointless chapter name!

Oh, and I'm not implying that Lily actually meant to tell the Order's plans to Voldemort, but, you know, pillow talk.

Anna


	45. Epilogue

Somewhere in the world, in a dark, dark place, someone licked his wounds.

He took his time, hovering in place while his spirit slowly regained strength, the ectoplasm gradually taking a form resembling what he had once been in life. He could barely recall much about that, in fact, only that he had once been very handsome. Blond hair, perhaps, blue eyes, or were they green?

He wasn't sure, and he didn't care.

He laid there for minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, he didn't know, all he could feel was the agony of his soul stitching itself back together, the missing piece forcing its way back into his body and forcibly bonding itself with the part already there.

Memories came with it, the image of Ariana Dumbledore reaching out reverently to touch the pendant around his neck, her dull, stupid eyes lighting up. How he'd hated the little bitch. Albus had, too, oh how he had. The resentment had almost been a palpable thing, the negative feelings towards the sister that had taken away his father and then, his future so clear anyone would've been able to notice.

For moment after that curse had hit her and it had become clear she was never going to wake up, he thought that Dumbledore would be happy. But, for once in his life, he'd been . . . horribly wrong.

The resentment turned to grief and guilt in an instant, then a slow, burning anger and hatred. Towards him.

And how he'd made a mistake of making an enemy of Albus Dumbledore.

That had been so many years ago, too many too count. He'd been in hell for so long, this horrible state of unlife. He was cold, sick, tired; it was like he was a corpse, some type of zombie.

A ghost. That's what he was. A ghost.

Philosophers might've theorized that the soul was the base of the human, but he had found that he was nothing without a body.

And he'd been _so close._ It had been within his reach, in that little brat's pocket . . .

_Riddle._ Even though his own features were long lost to time, he could clearly remember what Harry Riddle looked like, especially that infuriating, superior little smirk on his face.

He wanted to break that face, make it so that he could never smirk or smile again.

He wanted to do the same to Dumbledore, too, and to Voldemort.

His soul remembered Voldemort, just as it did Ariana and Albus—the dark lord looked quite a bit like his filthy spawn; he even wore a similar facial expression as he pierced his precious horcrux with a basilisk fang, as he watched the poison spread and destroy the pendant beyond all repair.

But Voldemort was nothing more than mudblooded trash. People were fools for refusing to speak his name, but he supposed he couldn't blame them.

They hadn't known true terror. But they would.

The Sorcerer's Stone was gone, but there were other ways. It might take years, but he would be back.

And then, the world would know what it meant to be terrorized.

And Dumbledore and Voldemort and Riddle would all pay. He promised them that.

**_The End_**

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Author's Note: Keep in mind that I have not read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows all the way through. While I know that I should steel myself and finish it, I have more of an urge to take it out in the backyard and burn it. However, despite hating most of it, I found the part about Ariana interesting. However, if I made any incredibly glaring errors that make me look very stupid, know that that is why.

Well, I've had a great time writing this. It's been exactly two years, I think, which is much longer than I ever intended on spending on this story. You've all been wonderful readers, very supportive, and I thank each and every one of you. You've had to put up with my writer's block and laziness and the sucky writing in the beginning, but you've stuck with me, and I'm very grateful for that! :)

I honestly don't know when I'm going to get Year Two up . . . I might start off with a flashback to Tom Riddle's diary days, who knows. Anyway, be on the look out!

Here's to hoping I spelled 'epilogue' correctly . . .

Anna


	46. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello, everyone. This is just to let you know that I have finally posted the sequel to this story. Look on my profile for it.

Anna


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